A Beautiful Heart
by DocMarten2525
Summary: When a young girl is found dead in a hotel room, Diamond City detective Nick Valentine must go on a journey to find her murderers, and to confront the darkness that lives in the beautiful heart and learn, ultimately, what it means to be human. [Rating T-M for graphic content. This is a work of adult fiction, with canon-typical violence, sexual violence and other adult content.]
1. The Silent Heart

[Author's Note: Many thanks to Alexeij for his ongoing scrutiny and suggestions (and if you haven't read his FONV work-in-progress, "Wasteland Legends: Missing in Action", you should). Also to Shapedforfighting, whose description of issues relating to winter in the Commonwealth in "A Diamond City Christmas" I have taken the liberty of adopting as being eminently sensible. Chronologically, this takes place a year or two before the events chronicled in Fallout 4. I have tried to write this so as to work for those not familiar with the game. If that is you, I'd like to hear back from you as to whether or not I was successful. There is some deviation from canon as well as development of a variety of minor characters. All comments welcomed.]

-OOO-

The girl in the bed was beautiful. Her hair, dark as a raven's wing, spread out across the pillow like a halo, framing a slim, pointed face of unearthly paleness. Her full lips were parted, revealing straight, white teeth, and her skin was unmarked by the ravages of hardship and disease. Everything about her was in stark contrast to the room around her: a dingy, windowless, concrete rectangle, sparsely furnished, barely lit by the single ancient bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Everything, that is except one thing. Her eyes, once the deep blue of ancient china, now stared glazed and lifeless at the ceiling above.

"See, Nick Valentine?" Vadim Bobrov was saying in his heavily accented English. "I find her here, just like this. I say 'What the hell is a dead girl doing in my place? What will people say? What can I do?' So I close the door behind me and I call you – Nick Valentine, the big detective, to tell me. So tell me, Nick Valentine."

Valentine looked away from the girl. "This is hardly your first stiff," he said pointedly.

"Sure, yes, yes; people die, it's unfortunate. Whores, junkies, drunks - dying is what happens to people. But this girl, no. Dying does not happen in my place to people like this girl." He shook his head emphatically. "Not here."

Valentine had to agree. She didn't look much like the usual class of people you might find in a room at the Dugout. Not like the Dugout was the worst place to drink in Diamond City, but the bar was set pretty low to begin with. He frowned, the yellow glow from his eyes brightening slightly. Metal gleamed under the tear in the synthetic skin around his neck, and from somewhere inside his tattered grey trench coat a relay clicked repeatedly.

"What do you know about her? And where's her stuff?"

"I don't know. And don't give me that look. I didn't take it. No one took it. I come in this morning because the room is due and my stupid brother Yefim, whose job it is to do this, is still passed out. So I knock and no one answers and I come in and I find her here. Just like this. I go out, I lock the door. No one goes in. No one comes out. "

"You must have seen her come in last night?"

"No. My brother was working and he never saw any pretty black-haired girls. A boy rented this room. Tall. Dirty. A scavver. Paid in caps, Yefim never look twice at him. And he never saw no girl go in there. And before you say it, no it was not her with her hair tucked up, unless she was on stilts."

"But she could have come in later, without him seeing?"

"Sure. Yefim likes a little drink when he works. Sometimes, he ends up working flat on his back, fast asleep. But still, he collects the caps and so I don't care what he does. But it was quiet in here last night and no one else saw her, either."

"Any idea how she died?"

The Russian shrugged. "You tell me, " he said, throwing back the covers.

The girl was naked. Her breasts were small, perched high on her chest. Her legs were long and slender, her feet and ankles slim and delicate. She was young, he realized, younger even than he'd originally guessed. After death the blood had gathered in her buttocks and lower back, painting them an angry purple. But elsewhere her skin was unmarked and unblemished. Valentine rolled her over gently. Her skin was cool to the touch but not cold, although the blankets covering her would have an effect on that. But rigor mortis was only just beginning to set in and that, combined with the degree of lividity suggested she'd been dead only a few hours. Otherwise, there was no sign of trauma or disease. No wound marked her skin, no bruising on her neck to indicate that rough hands had choked the life from her. Valentine eased her mouth open, looking for signs of suffocation – bits of cloth in her throat or bruising on her lips. Nothing. She was just dead.

-OOO-

"Calling this whiskey is an insult to whiskey," Valentine said, putting his elbows on the bar and taking another drink.

"Hey – it's free. You want good whiskey, you go somewhere where they charge you for it," Vadim said.

"Forget it," the detective answered. "I can't taste it anyway." He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and shook a couple loose. "You want one?" Vadim accepted the cigarette and they smoked together for a while. Conversations swirled in a cloud around them. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, and the radio at the end of the bar was playing music that had been popular two centuries ago.

"What are we going to do about the girl?" Vadim said.

Valentine shrugged. "It's not really my problem. Unless you're paying me to make it my problem."

"Why me? Look at her – that sweet skin, those tender hands. Did you see her hands? She's Upper Stands for sure. They have lots of money up there. They pay big to find her."

"Good. You take her up there, then. " Valentine sipped his drink. He agreed with at least part of what Vadim was saying. Under the streaks of dirt and the grime beneath her fingernails, the girl's hands were remarkably well-kept. Soft, even. There had been a time, long ago, when lots of people in what used to be the city of Boston in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts had hands like that. That time was long in the past, destroyed by the bombs that rained from the sky in the war to end all wars. Not even the wealthy who lived in Diamond City's posh Upper Stands neighbourhood got through life so thoroughly unscathed.

Diamond City – the Great Green Jewel, they called it: the safest, most prosperous settlement in all the Commonwealth; a fortified town built inside what had once been Boston's ancient and hallowed Fenway Park baseball stadium. But for all its pretensions, Diamond City was still too small to harbour strangers, a fact Valentine pointed out. "She's no upper deck girl," he said, taking out another cigarette and rolling it between his fingers. "You ever see her around here before?"

The big Russian shook his head. "No. But that doesn't mean anything. I never go up there. Why should I? Lots of people there I never meet."

"Bullshit." Valentine lit his cigarette and blew out a long stream of smoke. "She's not from here and you know it. And she's not from Goodneighbour, either," he added, naming Boston's other major organized settlement. "Nor anywhere else I've ever heard of."

"But she's from somewhere. And there are people somewhere who must miss her."

Valentine threw him a look. "Vadim, I don't get you. You've probably pulled a dozen stiffs out of your rooms over the years. Why this one?"

The big man's face fell. "I had a sister once, Nick, where I grew up. A nice girl. Dark hair. Pretty. Not so pretty as that girl in there, but still, you know? And one day she went out to find her place in the world. And the world swallowed her up. We never heard from her again. It was like she never was." He took a pull on his cigarette, let the smoke drift out of his lungs. "Maybe if there was a guy like you there, maybe he would have found out what happened to my baby Nadia. But there wasn't. So maybe I do this for her."

"Oh, hell." Valentine emptied his glass, poured another from the bottle on the bar. "Fine. Twenty-five caps a day. Plus expenses. And I'll need a retainer. A hundred caps up front." He took another drink. "Something you should think about. Those hands of hers. Those hands never worked with anything harder than a pencil or a makeup brush. So either she's from some settlement we've never heard of where everyone has pretty, white skin and no callouses on their fingers, or she's a lot – " he paused, searching for the right word," – newer than she looks."

"Newer?" Vadim shook his head. "No, I don't understand – " He trailed off, then his eyes widened. "You mean - ?" He shuddered. " No, it can't be. Damn. What if she is? You must get rid of her. Wrap her up, take her out, throw her in the river. Forget what I said about Nadia. I won't have a monster like that here."

He started to rise. Valentine stopped him with a hand on his arm. It was his metal hand, the one with all the skin stripped off. The motors that opened and closed his fingers whined as he squeezed the big Russian's arm. Hard.

"You forget who you're talking to," the detective warned. The yellow glow of his eyes brightened.

"No," said Vadim, trying to pull away. "It's not the same. You don't pretend to be human. You don't come in the night and steal people away and put - " he shivered again "- things in their place. Things that look like them, act like them, pretend to be them." The whites of his eyes showed all around. "You're Nick Valentine. You're not like them. "

Nick relented, releasing his grasp. "You think?"

Vadim rubbed his arm. "I mean it," he said. "You belong here. Diamond City loves you."

"Huh," Nick said. "Tell that to the kids who threw the stink bomb in my office last week. Took Ellie half the day to get the smell out. " He stubbed out his cigarette. "Listen, maybe there's a different explanation. I'll see what I can do."

"But you will get her – it – out of my place?"

"When I'm ready. First, though, I need to talk to your brother about what he saw last night."

Vadim laughed. "Okay, but I wasn't joking before about Yefim. He's not going to like I wake him up so early."

"My heart would bleed for him if I had one. Now get moving. And after we're done here, I'm going to want back in that room to look around some more. Also, we're going to need a doctor. Send a couple of your boys to Goodneighbour to bring Amari back from the Memory Den. Tell her I need her right away."

"She won't come here."

"She'll come for me."

-OOO-

Half an hour and a stiff cup of coffee later, Yefim Bobrov was awake, vertical and more-or-less coherent. He and his brother were identical twins. Privately, Nick was glad they had different taste in clothing since unless they were talking he had some difficulty telling them apart. Once they opened their mouths, though, there was no mistaking them. Vadim, who managed the bar, was talkative to the point of loquacity and his booming laugh could frequently be heard roaring out over top of the chatter at the bar. Yefim, the innkeeper, rarely spoke more than a word or two at a time, generally letting his brother do the talking. It was going to be a tricky interview, Nick thought.

"So Yefim," he began, "tell me about last night."

Yefim grimaced, massaging the back of his neck. "Nothing to tell," he grunted.

"He means you already know everything he knows, since you talked to me already," Vadim added helpfully.

Nick frowned at him. "Vadim, why don't you go brew another pot of coffee?" he suggested. "Your brother looks like he needs it."

"Wait, but - "

"And take your time."

"Fine."

After he was gone, Nick poured a shot of whiskey and pushed it across the table at Yefim. "Here, this will help."

The big Russian picked the glass up in shaking hands and gulped it down, then took the bottle and poured himself a second. He took a sip, then placed the glass carefully down in front of him.

"Better?" Nick asked. Yefim nodded mutely. "Good," Nick said. "Now why don't you tell me about last night? In your own words."

Yefim thought for a moment. "Guy come in, maybe midnight. I ask 'Need a room?' he says 'Yes', I get his money, give him the room. Last I see of him."

"And the girl?"

He shook his head. "No girl."

Nick pulled out his notebook and wrote something down. "What did the boy look like? " he said.

Yefim shrugged. "Scavenger. Tall. Skinny. Dark hair."

"What about his hands?"

"What do you mean?"

"His hands," Nick repeated. "Tell me about his hands."

"I don't understand what you want. What about them? They had money in them."

"Besides that. Think, Yefim. I want you to describe his hands. Were they big hands? Small? Clean, dirty? What did his fingernails look like?"

Yefim sighed in exasperation. "I don't know. Who notices hands? I think he had ten fingers. I think they had fingernails. Okay?"

"Sure, sure. Don't get testy."

"Don't ask stupid questions."

"A girl is dead," Nick reminded him. "We don't know anything about her. Your memory could make the difference between returning her to her family or just dumping her in an unmarked grave. Which would you rather?"

Yefim slumped over, his head between his hands. "Look, Nick Valentine – I don't know. I was drunk last night. Trader brought in a new shipment of wine, I got testing it. By midnight, I had to close one eye just to make sure it was only one boy renting room, not two. After that, I also closed the other eye, just for a minute, you know, to rest them. Next thing, Vadim's waking me up and there's a dead girl in one of my rooms. I'm sorry."

Nick poured out another shot. Yefim threw it back. "Vadim won't like me drinking this early," he said, looking back toward the kitchen where his brother was deliberately dawdling over the coffee machine. "He thinks I have a problem." He spread his hands, looking down at them. "Maybe I do." He paused. "They were slim, the hands, almost like girl hands. Long fingers. Clever hands, for fixing things or making things. Fingernails… no, I don't know."

"What was he wearing?"

"Old hooded jacket with the hood up. Something else – he was young. Just a boy. And he was pretty. Pretty for a boy. Pretty for a girl, even."

"Pretty? Like – lipstick and makeup pretty?"

"No, no. Not like that. But pretty. Fine features, great big eyes, you know? I even wondered if he was going to set up shop in the back, like when Bobbi No Nose' girls are in town. We take a cut for that, so I have to know. But he just looked at me funny, said no."

"Huh." Nick made a note. "But are you sure he was a boy? Could he have been a girl in disguise?"

"Who knows? Lots of people it's hard to tell. But from his voice I'd say no. And he had a little moustache, you know? Like a boy grows when he first pretends to be a man."

Nick poured himself a shot and knocked it back, then poured Yefim another one and pushed it over. For him, drinking, like smoking cigarettes, was more habit than anything else, part of the 'Nick Valentine, Private Eye' persona he wore. Besides, alcohol didn't affect him the way it did humans. His power converters broke it down as readily as any other organic material he fed them, but that was it. And in his line of work, the ability to drink and still be sober was a definite asset. Still, he missed it sometimes. A thought occurred to him. "You saw the girl in there. The boy – do you think he looked like her?"

"You mean like family, brother and sister? No."

Nick made another note. "Any other way out besides through the bar?"

Yefim shook his head. "No. There's a door at the back in case of fire, but it's locked. I don't even think it opens."

"Huh," Nick said. "Remind me never to book a room in here. Okay, last question. Was there anyone else staying at the Dugout last night?"

Yefim shook his head. "That crazy caravanner, Cricket, she paid for a room but never picked up her key. Ask Vadim about her - I think she was in the bar for a while. Other than that, all the guest rooms were empty."

"Does anyone else have keys beside you?"

Vadim groaned. "All these questions make my head hurt, Nick Valentine. I thought you said that was the last one?"

"More likely the wine making your head hurt, Yefim. But this is the last one, I promise. Keys. Who has keys?"

"I do," Yefim said. He jangled the ring on his belt. "Only me. Not even Vadim. One for each room, which I give to the customer and a master key on a separate ring for me. That way I know who is in and out. And no one was here last night but that boy. And now, Nick Valentine, I am done."

Vadim returned just then and set down coffees. Yefim waved his away and climbed to his feet, making his way unsteadily back to his room. Vadim offered Nick a cigarette and the pair smoked in silence while the detective finished writing up his notes.

"Well?" Vadim finally demanded as Nick slipped his notebook into his pocket. "Did you learn anything new?"

"Maybe. I'll let you know when I figure it all out," Nick answered. He sipped his coffee and grimaced. "What the hell is this stuff?"

"It's coffee. You want good coffee - "

"I know, I know – 'go somewhere where they charge me for it.' I hear Cricket booked a room last night."

"Yeah, but I don't think she stayed. They were in the bar for a while, she and her boys. Drinking rum and scaring the regulars, as usual. I don't care she has caps to spend, next time I'll tell that crazy bitch to go sleep somewhere else."

"Was there trouble?"

"No more than usual. But she left around midnight, maybe a little after. Her crew stayed and drank themselves stupid, I dragged them out to sleep it off outside about 3:00 or so. Is it important?"

"I don't know yet." Nick finished his coffee. "Maybe if you see her, tell her I'm looking for her. Meantime, I'm going to want back in that room to look around some more. He snagged the whiskey bottle from the bar and slipped it into a pocket of his coat. "I'm gonna need this, too."

-OOO-


	2. Interlude

Sometimes vision is a distraction.

Valentine closed his eyes and let a picture of the room build around him. With the door closed, the sound from the busy taproom was a muffled, throbbing murmur. Peaceful almost, like a mother's heartbeat in the womb. But it cut the other way, too. A lot could go on in a room like this that wouldn't be heard from outside. The air smelled musty and damp, mixed with the reek of dirty concrete and unwashed bed linen, body odour and a certain overall rankness. No smell of corruption; that was hours away yet, especially in a room as cold as this. But there was something else. The faintest whiff of something sweet but with a chemical tang to it. He had to dig deep for the memory. Grass. The smell of cut grass from a freshly mown lawn. Where had he smelled that before?

He uncovered the girl again and examined her more closely this time. Over and above the lack of trauma that might suggest a cause of death, her body showed no sign of disease or malnutrition, no tattoos, no burns or radiation damage. An irregularly-shaped birthmark high up on the back of her neck just above the hairline was the only blemish on skin that was otherwise perfect. Her pubis was clean-shaven, he noted. And she herself was surprisingly clean. Other than her hands and face, she looked like she'd recently taken a bath. And this was very strange, because people in these modern days did not take very many baths.

He wished Amari would hurry up.

Valentine prowled around the room. Besides the bed, there was an old metal stacking chair in one corner and a small, two-drawer bedside table. He went through the drawers, even pulling them out to check behind, looked for anything stuck to the bottom of the chair, checked under the mattress. There were three blankets on the bed, not much more than filthy rags, really, and he shook them out carefully before replacing them. Getting down on his hands and knees he searched through the litter and dirt on the floor. Taking a small flashlight from his pocket, he peered under the bed. He grunted. It looked like what passed for maid service at the Dugout consisted of sweeping everything under the bed and leaving it there.

Then he smelled it again. The faintest whiff of fresh cut grass. He held very still and breathed in gently, taking the air in tiny sips, searching for the source. His light picked out something white - a piece of cloth, handkerchief-sized, balled up and fallen down behind the leg of the bed. Pulling out a thin penknife, he teased it out into the open then picked it up carefully by the corner and brought it to his nose.

"Huh," he grunted. He is flattened it out and folded it up into a piece of clean paper then put it in his pocket.

-OOO-


	3. The Inquiring Heart

Doctor Amari folded the blanket up around the girl's body, smoothing it down gently and flattening out the creases. "Poor girl," she said softly. "Do you have any idea who did this to her?"

Valentine shrugged from the chair where he had been working his way through Vadim's whiskey. "I don't even know who she is, yet. Doc. A complete Jane Doe, as we used to say. What can you tell me?"

The doctor began putting her instruments back in her bag. "I'm a neurologist, Nick. Autopsies aren't really my area of expertise. Still, I can tell you a few things. She is, as you suggested, very healthy. No obvious signs of disease, no healed wounds or old injuries, no scars, no needle marks. There was some redness inside her mouth, on the roof of her mouth and her gums and tongue, almost like a burn. But there's no sign of suffocation and no signs of vomit or fluid in her lungs."

She zipped up her bag. "Two things you should know. Firstly, she is not an Institute synth. The Institute has come a long way since they built you, Nick, but not so far they can fool a medical professional. Even given the limited amount of poking around I was able to do under these conditions."

"That's good to know."

"The other thing is, she definitely had sex shortly before she died."

"Was she…?"

"Raped? Not as far as I can tell. There was no trauma or bruising that I could see, anyway. Rape doesn't always leave a physical mark, of course. But there was nothing to indicate violence."

Nick mulled it over for a moment. "Do you know what killed her?"

"No, I don't. If you just wanted a cause of death, I would say that her heart appears to have simply stopped beating. But I cannot tell you why under these conditions. Nick, are you certain her death is suspicious? I mean, other than the obvious circumstances? But people do die of natural causes, even young people in the apparent prime of health."

"Maybe this will help." Valentine unwrapped the folded paper package from his pocket and held out the square of cloth it contained. Amari sniffed at it. Then sniffed again, her eyes narrowing.

"Where did you find this? Do you know what this is?"

"Yeah, I think so," Valentine said. "Chloroform. They used chloroform on her, didn't they?"

"Yes, that would explain it. The rag must have been stuffed in her mouth to keep the burns from showing on her lips and face. I suppose they assumed no one would look farther than a dead stranger that had to be disposed of. " She smelled the cloth again. "It evaporates so quickly. A little would just put her to sleep. But it's so easy to make a mistake."

"Could it have been an accident? Junkies will do the stupidest things if they think it'll get them high."

Amari thought about it. "No," she said. "They must have drenched it with the stuff for it still to hold any smell. It would have stopped her heart in seconds. This was murder."

Valentine nodded. "That's what I think too."

Amari's face hardened. "This was a child, Nick, barely out of her teens, if that. When you find out who did this, you will tell me. You are taking this case, am I correct? You must. "

Valentine nodded again. "I will. How much for the consult?"

Amari waved him off. "Nothing. Find out who did this. And come visit me sometime. I miss your stupid jokes."

"Sure, I'll do that. Listen, why don't you stay here tonight and go back in the morning? You can bunk at the office in Ellie's old room. It's clean. Never gets used now that she's moved out. It'd be nice to have company, and I'll get Vadim to give you a couple of his thugs to walk you home in the morning."  
"You always were a smooth talker," she laughed. "But no, another time. I must go home. I'm expecting a …package… shortly." She paused. "Nick – you might talk to the Railroad about this. They have eyes and ears everywhere. I could pass the word."

Nick nodded. "That's a good idea. Thanks."

He sat for a long time after Amari left. She had established the time of death as between three and four in the morning. Places like the Dugout never closed, but Diamond City itself tended to get quiet in the early hours. One of the local flatfeet might have seen something, not to mention the guard at the city gate. Maybe they'd remember a pair of young scavvers coming in last night, one of them a beautiful brunette. Speaking of which – he took his camera out of his pocket and flipped back the blanket covering her face. The doctor had cleaned her up and closed her eyes, and she lay in her wrap looking as if she were asleep. Nick took two careful photographs of her face and one close-up of the birthmark under her hairline. He thought about photographing the rest of her as well, but decided not to. There would be no trial and no jury to convince with murder scene and autopsy photos. The shots of her face were mostly to help jog memories. And for her people, if he ever met them.

There was a knock on the door and Vadim came in.

"Well?" he demanded.

Briefly, Valentine shared the doctor's findings, holding back details about cause of death, and certain other suspicions he was beginning to have.

Vadim sighed with relief. "Thank you, Nick," he said. "I am sorry about how I acted before. I was stupid." He ran a hand through the fringe of hair along his temple. "Still, I am glad to know she is human. I will get my brother to help me take care of her. "

"Going to bury her?"

"Yes. We have a little space in the back. I'll get Father Clements and do it right, put her inside the walls where the ghouls won't find her. "

Valentine nodded in approval. "Better do it soon. I'll send Ellie over later to collect my retainer." He stood up. "I've got a couple of things to check on. I'll swing by here later this evening. I'd like to talk to anyone who was here late last night." He stopped in the doorway. "And Vadim – not a word to anyone about any of this. Anyone asks, there was a dead girl in your room and you don't know anything else about it."

-OOO-

"Good, you're still here," Nick shut the door closed behind him as he walked into the front office of the Valentine Detective agency. There were two desks in the room, one on each side. An ancient cigarette machine stood against one wall beside a jumble of filing cabinets. A pile of boxes heaped up haphazardly in the far corner added to the general clutter. To the left was a small bedroom and the lavatory that doubled as a darkroom and lab, with stairs up to a second, larger bedroom above. Like most of the buildings in Diamond City, it was made of concrete blocks and sheets of corrugated steel, so that when the radstorms blew through, the interior rang like the horn section in some demonic orchestra.

From the nearer desk his secretary, Ellie, looked up from her book of crossword puzzles. She was a slim, pretty brunette in her early 20s, dressed in a denim vest over a white t-shirt above a knee-length pink skirt belted at the waist and, incongruously, sweat-socks and sneakers. A red-and-white striped scarf knotted around her neck completed the ensemble. She smiled fondly up at Nick. "How did it go?"

"I'll tell you when I know," he said. "Anything new?"

Ellie snapped her bubble gum as she ticked the news off on her fingers. "Paul Pembroke wants you to find out if his wife is cheating on him. Piper Wright from the newspaper wants to ask you about a murder she heard about at the Dugout. And there's a letter from the Mayor's office about unpaid taxes."

Nick grunted. "Pembroke should know by now I don't do divorce cases. I'll pop by the newspaper on my way out and settle things with Piper. And the Mayor will get a tax payment from me when he starts doing something worth paying taxes for. Anything else?"

"Nothing. Except I haven't been paid in two weeks and the neighbour's dog is starting to look like pretty tasty."

Nick laughed. "Hate to see you eat the poor guy's dog. Vadim owes me a hundred caps. Swing by there on your way home tonight and pay yourself out of that. Pick up anything we need around here, and if there's any left over, pay yourself some more. But first - " he handed her the camera – "Some shots in there I need prints from. Three big ones for the file and a handful of little ones to pass out."

Ellie took the camera. "What are they?"

"Dead girl. Nothing nasty – just head shots. Trying to figure out who she is. But it's a bad business, Ellie. I'm going to find out who did this."

"Good. I'll run this film right away."

"Thanks, kid." The detective smiled at her. "I don't know how I ever managed before you came along. I have to go back out. You run into the Mayor, tell him I said to get stuffed."

"Will do, boss."

He went straight to see Piper at the offices of Publick Occurrences, Diamond City's one and only newspaper. "Damn reporter," he muttered to himself, shouldering his way through the supper crowds in the Diamond City market. "Never met a windmill she didn't feel honour-bound to take a run at." Still, she had a good ear for a story. If there was any news floating around about the murder at the Dugout, Piper Wright would know about it. He nodded at a mother juggling a baby over one shoulder and a carbine over the other, and hurried on.

He caught the reporter at her desk, scribbling furiously. Her little sister, Nat, was at the printing press, taking each sheet as Piper finished it, checking for mistakes then nimbly transferring the metal letter blanks from their trays to the wooden frames that, when filled, would be locked into place and used to print each page of the day's edition. There was an air of controlled chaos in the little room, and the smell of printer's ink filled the air.

"Nick! I was just about to come looking for you." Piper flashed an ink-stained grin at him. A youngish, dark-haired woman in her trademark red leather coat and newsboy cap, Piper was simultaneously loved and hated in Diamond City for her habit of telling the truth no matter who it embarrassed.

"Piper," the detective greeted her gravely. "Minding the people's business, as usual, I see."

"As always." She waved him to a chair and pulled out a battered notebook. "Now, tell me everything."

"About what?"

"Oh come on … the whole town is buzzing about it. I'm even publishing a special edition. 'Beautiful stranger found murdered in Dugout! … Local detective hot on the case'. So? Any leads?"

"Sorry, doll," Nick answered. "I got nothing for you."

"Really? 'No comment'? That's the best you can do? That's not like you, Nick. Who is she? Who did it? How did she die? The Bobrovs clammed right up, wouldn't say a word. Are they suspects? Is the Mayor involved?"

Nick sighed. "Slow down, sister, slow down. I'll give you what I can, which isn't much. Right now, no one's a suspect. Certainly not the Bobrov brothers, and so far there's no indication McDonough's involved. "

"'Mayor denies involvement in murder plot'," Piper said. "I like it."

"Yes, well. Maybe you might want to hold off on that for now before they lock you out of Diamond City for good this time. Look, Piper, when I know something, I'll tell you."

The reporter shot him a look. "Will you? Why did you bring Doctor Amari all the way from Goodneighbour? There's some people think she might have a connection with the Railroad. Is this a synth thing? If it is, people here need to know."

Nick took out a cigarette, pushing the pack across the table to Piper. "Look," he said, "there's nothing to it. I brought Amari because I trust her discretion. Besides, the vic was just a kid. I didn't want Crocker or Sun putting their greasy hands all over her. That's all."

"Fine." Piper scrawled a quick note. "What else have you got?"

"Well, not much. She isn't a synth. But I can't tell you how she died. Right now, that's just between me, Amari, and the murderer. "

"Aha!" Piper pounced on the word. "So it was definitely murder."

Nick nodded. "Murder most foul, Piper." He took out his lighter, flipped it open and lit the cigarette. He took a long drag and exhaled, blowing the smoke at the ceiling before speaking again. "I don't know who she was or why she had to die, but someone's going to pay for it. You can quote me on that, if you want." He stood up. "I took some pictures. You want to run up to the office later, Ellie will get you a copy for your paper. Okay? "

"You're the best, Nick. I owe you one."

"Damn right you do. I'll be along to collect, one of these days. Meantime, you hear anything, let me know, okay? And keep the pack."

Valentine whistled tunelessly to himself as he left the newspaper offices. No matter how they felt about Piper herself, people in Diamond City read the Publick Occurrences religiously. Someone might remember something. At least the murderers would know he was coming for them. People on the run make mistakes.

He spent the next few hours in fruitless investigation. Ellie had been finished in the darkroom when he got back to the offices and so he'd put a handful of prints in his pocket before heading out again, first to the Diamond City security offices and then to talk to Danny Sullivan, who worked the front gates. But no one recognized the girl or remembered seeing her or the tall, young scavenger.

"Nick, I ain't seen her," Danny at the gate said, looking at the photo. "Wish I had. For sure I'd have noticed someone that pretty coming in. We had a little traffic on my shift, but it was just your usual bag. That trader, Cricket, brought a caravan in around supper time, but it was just her and her usual guys." He checked his clipboard. "It doesn't look like the night guys opened up at all. 'Course, sometimes they forget to log stuff. I'll ask around. " Sorry I can't help you any more than that." He handed the picture back.

Valentine waved it off. "Keep it – maybe someone will recognize her. I've got more. Thanks, Danny."

It was the same story in the Upper Stands and at the different vendors in the market. He had a bit more luck at the Dugout where, with Vadim's help, he interviewed people who'd been there the night before. From them he was able to confirm Yefim's timeline and add a few details. The boy had definitely come in near midnight, then left and come back again a little while later. No one remembered anyone leaving or coming back after that. The dead girl might as well have been a ghost for all the traces she'd left behind. Nick left pictures with a request to contact him if anyone remembered anything, but he didn't hold out much hope.

He was making his way back to the office when the Diamond City cop stopped him. He was a tall, greasy-haired man, with a sullen expression and faded raider tattoos on his arms. An old radiation scar along his jaw pulled his mouth into a permanent sneer.

"Hey, Valentine," the man said. "I heard you was looking for a girl."

"You might say," Nick agreed. "You're new around here, aren't you? Beadle or something?"

"Beddoes."

"Beddoes, sure. So? What do you know?"

Beddoes sneered for real. "Maybe I seen something. What's it worth to you?"

Valentine sneered back. "How about doing your job? What's that worth to you?"

"Nothing to do with my job. You think we give a damn about some scavver gets herself killed? Long as the citizens don't get hurt, who cares?" He hefted his baseball bat, the trademark of Diamond City security. This one had been customized with a double ring of close-spaced, half-inch spikes around the business end. "Besides - what the hell is it to you, anyway? People are saying maybe she was a synth trying to pass herself off as human. That why you care, synth? You looking out for your own? " The man spat. "I don't know why the Mayor even lets people like you stay here."

"So I can knock some sense into useless punks like you, I guess," Nick answered. "Look, pal – you got information or not? Because I'm busy. Spill it or get out of my way." He made to move on past but Beddoes stepped into his path.

"Okay, synth," he said, "here's the deal. Maybe I seen a guy like you were talking about back at the station. Not the girl. But I maybe seen the guy, and maybe I can tell you where he's at. But maybe I don't want to say anything back there because I figure it's worth some caps, and a rich synth like you prolly got lots of caps in his pockets."

"And maybe you don't want to share those caps with your buddies at the station, is that it? How do I know what you've got is worth paying for?"

The guard shrugged. "I guess you gotta find that out for yourself."

"Twenty-five caps," Nick said. "If it's any good, I'll give you more. "

Beddoes looked back over his shoulder. "Okay," he finally said, holding out his hand. "Give."

Valentine counted out twenty five caps into his hand, then looked at him expectantly.

"Well," he said, "Happens I pulled night duty last night. About 3:30, I seen this kid by the Dugout. Scavver, like you're looking for. Raggedy jeans, hooded top. Black haired. Young looking, like you said. Whistling to himself and skipping along like he hadn't a care in the fucking world. Came outta nowhere. I turn around, there he was. So I challenged him."

"Why?"

"I dunno. Why not? Maybe I was bored. But he got real nervous, like, and so now I'm getting interested. And all of a sudden he lights out, so I head after him." The guard paused.

"I'm all ears, Jack. What happens next?"

"Well, that's the funny thing, because I chased him around a corner that leads back to the water plant, but when I got there, he wasn't there no more."

Valentine sneered again. "That's your big story? You got spooked in the dark and started seeing things? What were you high on?"

"Nothing," Beddoes said indignantly. "Nothing. I was working, I'm telling you what I saw. And it's worth a damned sight more than any measly 25 caps."

The detective reached out suddenly, knocking the guard's bat away with one hand and grabbing him by the throat. He patted him down expertly with his free hand. "What the hell is this, then?" he asked, pulling out a tube of Jet. "You gonna tell me you weren't high last night? You saw some ghost come out of nowhere then disappear like magic smoke, and you wanna tell me you weren't high that whole time?"

"He didn't come out of nowhere. I told you – he came from the Dugout. Like you said."

"Yeah, so you thought you'd get a few caps out of me with some made up story. Is that your game?"

"Screw you, synth," Beddoes gasped, struggling to free himself. The servo motors in Valentine's arm whined in protest as he hoisted the guard bodily in the air and threw him hard into the wall behind him. The man grunted in pain and collapsed to the ground with the wind knocked out of him.

"You can keep the caps," Valentine told him. "This too." He dropped the tube of Jet at his feet. "You tell your buddies about any of this, " he added, "I'll tell them how you tried to cheat them out of their share of the money. Now pick up your gear and scram." He twitched back his coat, revealing the big .45 riding under his arm. "And don't try anything fancy. Go on, beat it."

It was early evening by the time Nick got back to the office. The last sliver of sun had long since disappeared below the rim of Diamond City's Upper Stands district and a deep twilight had spread across the city. He was surprised to find Ellie waiting for him, a copy of Public Occurrences in her hands.

"New issue's just out, " she said, holding it up. "You made the front page. "

"Did I, now?"

" 'Valentine vows vengeance'," she read. " 'Nick Valentine, Diamond City's premiere crime fighter, has sworn to bring to justice the person or persons responsible for the death of the unknown girl pictured above, who was found brutally murdered in a back room of the Dugout earlier today'." Ellie skimmed down the column, flipped it over and continued reading on the next page. "Oh, this is good," she said. "Did you really say 'No matter how fast you run or how well you hide, when you turn around, I'll be right behind you'?"

Nick grimaced. "Not exactly, " he said. "You know Piper. Never met a story that didn't need a little dressing up."

"Maybe it will help flush out some bad guys."

"Yeah. They'll be the ones rolling around laughing every time I walk by."

Ellie's expression got serious. "This came a few minutes ago. Someone slipped it under the door. I didn't see who." The envelope was addressed in a neat hand to "Diamond City Detective Agency, Attention Nick Valentine". The card inside was blank except for a symbol: eight dashes pointing outwards in a circle with a cross in the middle.

"Huh." Nick took it from her, examining it carefully on both sides.

"What does it mean?" Ellie asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Means someone wants to meet me."

"Who?"

"I don't know exactly. Someone who might know something." Nick opened a drawer in his desk and slipped a box of shells into his pocket.

Ellie watched him worriedly. "What's going on, Nick? What can I do?"

"Nothing to worry about. People I'm supposed to meet run with some rough customers is all. You just hold the fort." He thought for a moment. "No, wait a minute. You still got that bartender boyfriend over at the Dugout?"

Ellie blushed a little. "Not really a boyfriend, " she said. "But yes, he's still there. I was thinking of going over later, in case he's working tonight." She blushed harder.

"Good. Make sure you mingle a little while you're there."

"You want me to do some sleuthing?" she asked. "But everyone knows I work for you. No one's going to tell me anything."

"You'd be surprised. Thanks to Piper, they're all going to be talking about it. So keep your eyes and ears open; you never know what might turn up. Or who might be interested in what you have to say."

"If they ask, what can I tell them?"

"Everything you know. " He held up the card. "Except this. This is our little secret. And Ellie? You still got that gun I gave you?"

She patted her purse. "Yes."

"Good. Keep it close. And stay out of trouble. I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you."

-OOO-


	4. The Secret Heart

Nick stepped out into the night. A full moon was riding high above the city, casting weird, sharp shadows along Diamond City's crooked alleyways. It had been raining off and on for the last couple days, but the day had dawned clear and cold, with frost on the windows and a thin rime of ice on the puddles. Now, clouds were drifting in again, thin wisps of them obscuring the moon, throwing the world into darkness before gliding onwards. Even now, the overcast was moving down from the north. Unless the cold weather held, it would rain again tomorrow. If the mercury stayed low, it would snow.

The city was alive in the night. The smell of cooking hit him as he stepped outside and from somewhere he could hear laughter riding a beam of lamplight from an upper window. He turned aimlessly, letting his feet take him wherever they wanted. The symbol on the card meant "An ally is near". It had come more quickly than he expected, but after the fruitless day he'd had, it was the only lead going. Now all he could do was be available. The Railroad would find him.

He let his feet pick their own path. Down the alley to the market, around past Takahashi's noodle stand then up towards the chapel. It was more brightly lit here in the market than in the cramped alleys that made up most of Diamond City's lower quarter. A crowd of children racing toward him parted then re-formed again, like a river around a boulder in mid-stream. Here and there a friendly smile or a wave as people passed him by, occasionally a frown or muttered curse. Not all of Diamond City loved Nick Valentine. Somewhere a guitar was playing and people were standing around a fire in an old barrel, clapping in time. Two guards lounging against a wall watched him suspiciously as he went by. Nick laughed silently, recognizing the ancient enmity of the flatfoot for the private dick. Only now, he was on the receiving end of it.

It felt strange not to be a cop anymore. Not that he'd ever been one, technically. But the real Nick Valentine, the human whose memories he carried, had been a cop in Boston in the days just before the Great War. He wondered, as he often did, what had happened to Detective Valentine when the bombs fell. Had he escaped to make a new life somewhere? Or been killed in the initial attack? Probably neither. The bombs had missed Boston almost completely; most had died in the madness that followed. Nick liked to think that Valentine-the-man had died on a barricade somewhere, fighting to keep the peace and restore order. But there was no way of knowing. Any clues that once existed were long buried, on a trail that had been cold for almost 200 years.

-OOO-

The gates were down for the night by the time Nick got there.

"Just your usual day, Nick," Danny said in answer to his questions. "A couple of farmers came in a little while ago and there's a been a few of the local scavvers in and out, but no one I didn't recognize. Sorry."

"Thanks, Danny." An idea struck him. "Maybe I'll get you to open up for me, do you mind? It's a nice night out. I might go for a walk."

"You sure about that?" Danny eyed him worriedly. "The guys surprised a bunch of ferals just up the block this afternoon, and it looks like some super mutants might be moving back into the old Parkview Building. All the patrols are in for the night; you get into trouble out there, I don't know if we can help you."

Nick grinned, his eyes glowing in the darkness. He patted the bulge under his arm. "I'm carrying a little trouble of my own," he said. "I'll be all right."

"Sure you don't want something heavier?" Sullivan motioned to the locker in the guard post behind him. "We picked up a shotgun today off a guy didn't need it anymore. And a box of shells. You don't even have to pay for it; just bring it back when you're done. You don't want to be out there alone with just that popgun you've got."

Nick shook his head. "You don't worry about me. But thanks."

"Okay, then. But keep your eyes open. We'd miss you around here." Danny cupped his hands and called up to the guards stationed on the catwalk above. "Look alive up there! One to come out." He clapped Nick on the shoulder as the gate clattered open. "Take care, Nick."

The old detective touched the rim of his hat in salute. "Thanks, Danny. I will." Nick waited while the gate was ratcheted up, then looking left and right to make sure the coast was clear, slipped out into the darkness, out of the safety of Diamond City and into the ruins that had once been the city of Boston. The gate dropped closed behind him and he was alone.

He lost no time in finding a shadow to cover himself with. There was a ladder just to his right leading to a watch platform that was unoccupied now that the night patrols were in. It would make a good place to scout from before heading out. Checking first to make sure it really was untenanted, he scrambled up then hunkered down behind a low wall to peer out at the city. He slitted his eyes to keep their faint glow from him giving away.

Even on moonless nights, it was rarely fully dark in the city. The radioactive wasteland to the west, where the missile aimed at Boston had struck, cast a pale glow that never fully dimmed. And while the street lights had failed when government collapsed, some buildings had automated, atomic-powered lights that still dutifully turned themselves on and off with the setting and rising of the sun. Nor were the ruins empty. Watch fires and cook fires burned in sheltered places throughout the city and many of the darkened windows looking down on her streets contained watchful eyes.

Nick eased the .45 from its holster and slipped the safety off. He held still, listening carefully as he looked up and down the street that paralleled Diamond City's west wall. His night vision was no better than a human's but his hearing was considerably more acute, a fact he was careful not to reveal. Some distance off to his left, past the life-sized copper statue of the baseball player at bat that was the symbol of Diamond City, he could hear a pack of wild dogs yelping and snarling. A pair of automated turrets below him hummed quietly to themselves, almost masking the thin rattle of gunfire that ghosted up from the south. Small calibre, he thought – pipe pistols and hunting rifles, it sounded like, maybe half a dozen in all. Not an uncommon sound in Boston these days, but still something to be avoided.

His decision made for him, he headed north toward the Charles River, staying close to the overhanging city walls and slipping like a grey ghost from shadow to shadow. When the city walls turned to the east, Valentine followed, working his way toward the old Boston Public Library Building. The street here was made up of two- and three-storey brick buildings, low-end retail at one time, mostly, with apartments or small offices above. These buildings had been old even before the bombs fell and now all were in varying stages of collapse.

Though he felt alone, the city was alive with noise. Twice more he heard gunfire in the distance and once a hoarse, wailing scream that went on and on before fading into a choked gurgle. One time he slipped into a deep shadow and waited while a small group of feral ghouls shambled by. He let them go. Of all the crimes inflicted on the world by the Great War, it was the ferals – mindless horrors stripped of their humanity by the hellish radiation – that aroused in Valentine the greatest pity. He usually killed them without mercy and hoped they had souls which could thus be set free.

Once he caught a sound like soft footsteps behind him, causing him to freeze in place for a long moment. Another time it was the murmur of quiet conversation from a rooftop, and then a voice: "Did you hear that?" and sudden silence. He froze again, listening carefully and searching the shadows with his eyes only, keeping his body completely still. The silence stretched. It was impossible to know if it was him or something else the speaker had heard, or if someone was at this moment taking a bead on him with a nightscope from a window across the way. Then he relaxed as he heard quiet laughter and the resumption of conversation. There was the sound of a lighter striking, and a moment later the whiff of tobacco smoke drifted down to him. Whoever it was must have decided they were safe after all.

He marked the location in his mind. Honest folk tended to stick to the fortified farming settlements scattered around the city's fringe. The urban ruins were the haunt of raiders gangs and scavengers and other, worse, things. Still, it wasn't a complete jungle. There were rules and accommodations, and if you knew how the game was played and kept to the marked routes, travel could be reasonably uneventful. During the daytime, anyway. Nighttime was a different story. Anyone lurking on a rooftop in Boston after dark was probably up to no good. The caravan companies kept the main routes through Boston reasonably clear, and occasionally Diamond City and Goodneighbour got together to clean up any particularly troublesome hotspots. But it didn't seem to matter how many you killed or how many times the raider gangs or the super mutants were driven off. Difficult as life was in post-apocalypse Boston, it paled in comparison to the wastelands, and so the city attracted an endless stream of thugs and hoodlums, drawn by the hope of easy pickings.

Nick turned toward left, cutting through a narrow alley that led down toward the river. Still no sign of the Railroad. A set of stairs to his right led up to what had once been an open-air café in a courtyard with buildings looking down on all sides. A memory slid past – cold beer on a table, sunlight glittering off the beaded sweat on the glasses. People laughing and a pretty, blonde girl with green eyes smiling up from under his arm. Hard to reconcile that with the ruins around him now. Some broken chairs huddling by the remains of a fire pit hinted at more recent occupants, but whoever they were, they were gone now.

Suddenly he froze. On one side of the plaza the moonlight shone against a boarded-up doorway. In the shadows beyond it, he had just seen the reflection of something tall and vaguely man-shaped changing position. He stood still, excruciatingly aware of how exposed he was. Slowly, he thumbed back the hammer of his pistol, letting a bullet feed silently into the firing chamber. In the darkness or under cover of camouflage, searching eyes simply slid past a motionless figure. But movement drew the eye. Movement killed. Valentine did not move, except to bring his gun hand up inch by agonizing inch into firing position.

"Where's your geiger counter?" a voice asked suddenly from out of the darkness behind him. Nick jumped convulsively at the sound, bringing his gun up and turning to face it, then relaxing as he recognized the Railroad code phrase from a job he'd once worked.

"It's in the shop," he replied, giving the appropriate countersign. They were a secretive lot, the Railroad, and he'd never actually met his contact that time, just delivered a letter to a disembodied voice on an overpass up near Lexington.

"You took your time getting here," the voice said.

"Would've helped if I'd known where 'here' was supposed to be," he answered crossly. "Better still, you could have just come to the office."

"Well, wouldn't that just take all the fun out of it." The stranger stepped around, holstering a sleek, long-barrelled pistol as he did. Valentine glanced over at him quickly. He was about medium height, caucasian, with several days growth of beard and short, dark hair poking out from under a wool stocking cap. He was dressed in raider leathers but lacked the tattoos and face marks that most raiders affected. Strangely enough, he was wearing sunglasses.

"They call me Deacon," the man said.

Nick nodded. "I've heard of you. But look - if you're here, who is that over there?" He motioned with his gun at the tall shadow standing next to the doorway.

Deacon looked to where he was pointing and laughed. He whistled softly and a moving shadow detached itself from atop a larger, stationary one as a small, black and orange cat, barely more than a kitten, jumped noiselessly down from the pedestal on which it had been sitting and stepped into the moonlight. Gathering itself, the cat leaped up into Deacon's arms.

"This is Zephyr," Deacon explained, scratching the cat behind the ears. "She's still learning the ropes, but I'm confident she'll make a fine operative someday." The cat settled herself inside Deacon's jacket and poked her head out to regard Nick with wide, yellow eyes. Deacon looked up at the windows above them. "You sent a message," he said. "Let's go somewhere a bit less open and we can talk."

Deacon led the way. Zephyr ("That's just her Railroad name," he said. "Mostly I call her Harley. Unless we're on official business.") climbed out to balance swayingly on his shoulder, facing backwards to watch Nick as they cut through a series of narrow alleys and ruined buildings before finally finding themselves in what had once been a small bar on the top floor of a three-storey building facing the river. Deacon dug around behind the bar to bring out a lantern, which he lit. There was a bottle of scotch there, too, and glasses.

"Convenient," Nick said, pointing to the lantern.

"We stay here sometimes," Deacon said. "I keep it stocked. Drink?" Without waiting for an answer he poured two shots, sliding one over to the detective. Nick toasted him silently and they drank together. Deacon refilled their glasses. "Cigarette?" he asked, shaking two out of his pack. Nick took one and accepted the proffered light. Harley wrinkled her nose at the smoke and jumped down to prowl silently around the room.

The room was long and narrow, with a row of booths along one wall and a long, stand-up bar on the other. A little light filtered through a pair of boarded up windows at the far end, opposite the short hallway next to a coat check booth where they'd entered. Torn, water-stained wallpaper hung in long streamers from the walls and ceiling and the table tops were covered with dust. A pair of human skulls sat side-by-side atop a jumble of debris pushed into one corner, next to a relatively clean sleeping bag stretched over some cushions salvaged from one of the booths. A crazy-cracked mirror on the wall behind the bar reflected Nick and Deacon back on themselves as they stood leaning against the old-fashioned brass rail.

Nick raised his glass to the reflections. "I remember this place," he said, looking around. "Smilin' Joe's. A retired cop used to run it, just before the War. Good beer, crappy food. It's a bit more rundown than the last time I saw it."

"To Joe," Deacon said solemnly, raising his glass. Then he turned to face Nick. "So, Valentine, how can the Railroad help you?"

Nick laid out the details of the murder and his investigations, holding back only the cause of death but including some of his growing suspicions about the identity of the victim.

"She's got to be Institute," he said, finally. "It's the only thing that makes any sense. Hell, it's the only thing makes sense at all in this whole cockamamie mess. What was she doing in Diamond City? How did she wind up dead in a room at the Dugout? Who killed her? In the absence of any real evidence, I like the kid for it. But why? And why kill her there? And where is he now?" Nick poured himself another drink and lit a cigarette, offering one to Deacon, who declined. "It's not really synth related, so maybe the Railroad can't help me much," he continued. "But from what I've heard, if there's anyone who knows what the Institute is up to, you're it."

Deacon spread his hands. "What can I say, Nick? The Railroad is really just a big, dysfunctional family. With guns. Unfortunately, everything we know about the Institute comes from the escaped synths we help get out of the Commonwealth, and they don't know much." He picked up the photographs Nick had brought and looked through them. "Can I keep these?" he asked. Nick nodded, and Deacon slipped them into his jacket. "I agree with you, though," he continued. "I can't imagine where else she might have come from besides the Institute. I did a little research before I came. One of our field agents spotted a pair something like you describe crossing over the railway bridge toward Oberland Station two nights ago. Can't be sure it's them, of course, but I can show your pictures around. Maybe we'll get lucky."

At that moment the cat, Harley, who had been sniffing curiously at the different bits and pieces on the bar suddenly arched her back, spitting and hissing at something unseen across the room, in the corner by the entrance.

Nick jumped in surprise, spilling his drink. Leaping up, Deacon shouted a warning and threw himself backward into a booth, sweeping the lantern off the bar and hurling it at whatever Harley had seen. The lamp hit the wall and shattered, spraying burning fuel across the floor. A shout of pain and rage erupted from the flames.

"What the hell?" Valentine pushed away from the bar, drawing his pistol.

"Get down," Deacon said, ducking for cover as a bolt of laser fire lanced across the room, narrowly missing him. Nick fell to the floor and rolled into the cover of a booth as Deacon pushed a table over to make a barricade. He popped up, firing twice quickly before dropping again as another laser blast seared the air where his head had been.

Nick wriggled sideways and fired a shot into the flames where he thought he could see the outlines of something moving. "Could he be stealthed?" he called. Rumours of new developments in stealth technology – "stealth boys" in the popular parlance: portable devices that actually warped light, making the wearer nearly invisible – had been in wide circulation just before the Great War. They'd turned out to be true. But the technology was experimental even then, and while it was rumoured that the Railroad made extensive use of them nowadays, they were impossibly rare. Certainly Nick had never encountered one before. Not until now. The idea of it frightened him immensely.

"Gotta be," Deacon answered, firing blindly. "Thank God for Harley. Shit like that doesn't fool her for a second." The next bolt hit the table he was crouched behind, scorching a fist-sized hole in it. The wood started to smoke, while across the room the torn wallpaper had caught fire and already flames were beginning to crawl up the wall and across the ceiling.

"Dammit, Deacon," Nick shouted. "Is there another way out of here? If that asshole doesn't get us, the fire will." He fired twice more through the flames, this time into the coat check booth where he thought the assailant might have slipped. A cry of pain rewarded his efforts and the shadowy shape of a man suddenly flickered into existence behind the counter.

"Got him!" Both Deacon and Nick fired, Deacon squeezing off three more shots, hitting the figure at least once before the laser fired again, this time striking his pistol and sending gobbets of molten metal spraying across his hand. He cursed, throwing the useless weapon away as he dropped. Nick sprang to his feet and threw himself over the bar. The laser followed, drawing a fiery line across the wall behind him. The room was rapidly filling with smoke. Nick dropped in the narrow space behind the bar, flipping out the cylinder of his revolver and shaking the spent shells out on the floor before hurriedly reloading. He jumped up and fired again, feeling his leg buckle in pain from a hit or near miss, unnoticed in the chaos.

"Deacon, if there's a back way out of here, now's the time," he called. He ducked down again, feeling rather than seeing an explosion of light and heat as another shot melted a hole in the mirror behind him.

"Boarded up window behind you. It's fake. There's a latch at the bottom."

Nick scuttled back to the far wall. The boarded up window was indeed a dummy. He fumbled for the catch and swung the window outwards. Smoke poured out the opening. On the other side, a metal platform with a ladder promised escape. Thick smoke filled the room now and the flames were everywhere. Behind him he could hear Deacon retching in the flame-streaked darkness. Another laser blast scorched the wall above him and he hastily stepped through the window.

"Hurry," he said, "this whole place is going up."

Deacon coughed in the darkness. "Where's Harley?" he rasped. "I can't find Harley."

"What? It's just a damned cat, for crying out loud."

"Dude – she saved our lives. I can't leave without her."

Nick swore as the laser flashed again. "Deacon?" he called. "Deacon!" There was no answer. He cursed and slid back into the burning room, throwing himself flat and worming his way around the corner of the bar where he could get a clear shot. Here by the floor the smoke was thinner, and he could see the little cat crouching in terror beneath a broken chair, her fur singed and her proud whiskers burned almost to stubs. Nick reached out a long arm and scooped her up, ignoring her flailing claws. "I've got her!" he called. "Now let's get the hell outta here."

"Good job," Deacon shouted back. "Get ready… Fire in the hole! "

Nick drew himself hurriedly back behind the bar as Deacon lofted a grenade left-handed up and into the far doorway. A second later there was an almighty concussion and a blast of heat and flame as it went off. Nick leaped up, firing blindly again into the smoke-filled room. Laser fire lanced back, barely missing him. Unbelievably, the attacker was still alive. But by then, Deacon was there. The whole bar was burning now, including Deacon's makeshift barricade. Quickly, the two climbed through the window and out onto the scaffolding beyond. Deacon took Harley with his good hand, slipping her into his jacket while Nick started down the ladder to the street. They were both terribly exposed, but with Deacon disabled, speed was their only hope for safety, speed in getting down to the street and out to cover before their attacker could come down the stairwell at the other side of the building.

The flames that were beginning to shoot out the second floor windows would attract other attention, too, in ways that simple gunfire would not. It was going to get crowded around here.

Deacon tripped as he reached the ground and Nick reached out a hand – his metal one – to steady him. Deacon was coughing and wheezing, his eyes running and almost blinded from the heavy smoke in the bar. His clothing was scorched in several places and a long, blistered, red mark across the side of his face showed where a bolt had just barely grazed him. Another, low down, had burned through his heavy leather coat. Nick could smell the sweet, cooked-meat odour of charred flesh. He wasn't unscathed, either. He could hear sparks cracking and popping up his left leg and he felt a tingling near his eye socket on that side. But there was no time to run a diagnostic, and he was just going to have to hang on and hope for the best.

Stumbling, the two made it across the street, sheltering behind a pair of wrecked, rusted, vehicles half covered with broken brick from the collapsed façade of the building beyond. Behind them, they could hear running feet. There was a sudden oath and a cry of warning, then gunshots and the sound of laser fire. More shots were fired, and more shouts, panicky now. With Nick still supporting Deacon, the pair ducked into next the alley and stumbled up away from the river. Behind them the shouts were turning to screams.

After two blocks, Deacon shook off Nick's arm. A paroxysm of coughing bent him over, retching and gasping, and he swayed, almost collapsing.

"You go on," he said, when he could finally breathe again. "I have to go back there."

"What the hell for?" Nick demanded. "We need to get you to Diamond City and get you looked at. You can't go anywhere, the shape you're in."

"I have to." Deacon fumbled around inside his coat and pulled out a stimpack, fumbled it inexpertly open left-handed and pressed it against his injured side, gasping in pain. He used a second one on his burned hand, shuddering as the drugs flooded his system. Rare, precious and terribly expensive, the stimpack was a medical miracle, closing smaller wounds, stopping bleeding and speeding up healing a hundred fold. They weren't a cure-all and there would be a price to be paid later, when the drugs wore off. But for now, the effects were dramatic and immediate.

"You go back there you'll die," Nick said. "What the hell was that thing? A grenade blew up in its face and it came out of the building still fighting. What the hell, Deacon?"

"I have to get back to the Railroad and warn them," Deacon said. "It was a Courser, Nick. The Institute sent out a fucking Courser. I'll be in touch." And with that, he was gone.

-OOO-


	5. The Broken Heart

It was well after midnight by the time Nick made it back to the office, to find the door locked and barred from the inside. He banged loudly, waited. There was no answer. "Ellie," he called impatiently. "Ellie! Are you in there?"

The temperature had been dropping steadily over the last couple hours. The moon was long since obscured by the overcast, and a sudden fog, thick, damp and cold, had risen off the Charles and now enveloped Diamond City. Heavy tendrils of it swathed the market square and nosed down the alley behind him, tinged with yellow where the street lamp at the corner shone through, and moving like a live thing in the shadows beyond.

He pulled his coat closer around him. Diamond City was silent and he felt dangerously exposed. His coat was torn and badly scorched, his hat burned around the brim where it had been briefly set on fire. Worse, the vision in his left eye was cutting in and out and his left leg was starting to freeze up. He'd run a diagnostic on the way back and there was circuit damage. An overload, he thought, from a near miss. Arturo could probably handle it, depending on how much damage there was. Otherwise, he'd have to make the trip to Goodneighbour and see the specialist there. Either way, right now he needed to be home, to put his feet up and to have a drink. The encounter with the Courser had shaken him in more ways than one. "Ellie, dammit. Open up."

"Is that you, Nick?" Ellie's muffled voice came through the door.

"Who else would it be? Let me in."

The door stayed closed. "What's my mother's name?"

"Your what?"

"My mother. What's her name?"

"Ellie, what game are you playing? I'm hurt. Please open the door."

"How do I know you're really you?" he heard her say. "My mother's name. Tell me my mother's name." He heard the bar slide back and the door opened a crack. The chain was still on, though, and through the narrow opening he could see his secretary standing in the darkness beyond, the muzzle of her snub-nosed .38 pointing squarely at the middle of his forehead. His eyes widened and he stepped back. "I'm serious, Nick," she said steadily. "Tell me my mother's name."

"Annie," he said. "For chrissake, Ellie, her name was Annie. Now put the gun down and let me in."

The door closed again. He heard the chain rattle off then it was flung wide. "Nick, thank god you're home," she cried, bursting into tears. "I've been so afraid."

"Ellie, what on earth?" She pulled him urgently inside, closing the door behind him, locking it and sliding the bar back into place. Nick reached over to flick on the light, then stood blinking in surprise. "What the hell?" he said.

The office was a shambles. Chairs were overturned and filing cabinets hung open, the files spilling out across the floor. The desk drawers had all been pulled out and dumped. Even the old cigarette machine had been opened and rifled, and the ancient typewriter on Ellie's desk was smashed beyond recognition. Broken glass littered the floor – the remains of the bottle and the glasses he usually kept in his top drawer. Ellie's precious book of crossword puzzles – the new one, the one Nick had found and brought back as a birthday present – lay slashed and torn in the middle of the room.

Nick turned slowly, surveying the damage. He suddenly felt very old. Limping awkwardly to his desk, he straightened up the chair and sat down heavily, grunting in pain.

"Nick, what's happened to you?" Ellie said in alarm, wiping her eyes and sniffling. She wrinkled her nose. "And what's that awful smell? You look like you've been standing in the middle of someone's fireplace."

He reached into where his desk drawer had been and felt around at the back for a minute, then pulled out a thin flask. "Emergency backup," he said. Wearily, he unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. "You better tell me first, kid," he said. "But here – " he handed the bottle over. "You look like you need this as much as I do."

"Thanks." She took a swallow and shuddered as the fiery liquid hit her. "God, that's awful," she said, taking another, more careful, drink before giving it back to him.

"You want to tell me what happened here?" Nick asked.

"Oh, Nick," she said. "It was terrible. I went to the Dugout, like you suggested. My bartender friend was there, so I talked to him a while. I didn't find out anything particularly interesting. You were right, though. Everyone was talking about it. Mostly the regular crowd, although there were a couple I didn't recognize. But no one that stood out." She held out her hand and he passed her the bottle. "I'm sorry, Nick. I was hoping I'd have some big clue for you when you got back. I guess I failed in that, too. I'm not much of a detective."

"Don't worry about it. That's hardly ever the kind of thing that cracks the case, anyway." Nick took the bottle back. "Detective work is like building a wall out of bricks. You just keep at it, one brick at a time, until you can finally stand back and see the whole thing. Although," he gestured around the room, "this might count as a pretty big brick."

He downed another shot and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. The little atomic furnace in his gut was gobbling up the whiskey as fast as it came in, charging his batteries and feeding power into his diagnostics. He felt a repair subroutine kick in and feeling begin to trickle down his injured leg through an emergency circuit. He'd still need a mechanic, but at least he wasn't going to die.

Ellie shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as she perched on the edge of the desk. "My friend offered to walk me home. I said no. I don't want him to get the wrong idea. Not just yet, anyway. But once I got past the market I thought I heard something behind me. I couldn't see anyone, but … you know how it is in the dark. They haven't fixed the lights by my place yet. I just got spooked and I didn't want to be alone. So I came here instead. You were gone and the door was hanging open and I found it like this. Nick, I was so afraid, I didn't know what to do, and then when you came, I thought 'what if it's a synth?' I'm sorry I pointed my gun at you."

The detective shook his head. "Forget it. But you took a crazy chance coming in. Someone could still have been here."

Ellie patted her purse. "I have a gun and I know how to use it. I'm a big girl now. Most of the time."

"You still should have called for help."

"Who? Diamond City security? They'd be more likely to shake me down than help me out."

"Anyone. The Bobrovs, your bartender, Arturo. Danny Sullivan. He might be security, but he's a good egg. You didn't have to come in here alone."

"It's okay, Nick. The place felt empty. But the street didn't. I got really scared coming home; I didn't want to go back out there." She shivered again.

Nick sighed, only too aware of just how little stopping power the tiny .38 had. Still, it had taken real nerve for her to come inside at all. A feeling of pride welled up in him. She was the closest thing to family he had. He'd taken her in after her mother died. Not that Annie'd been much of a mother; a drug-addicted whore, rather, wrapped in rags and spreading her legs for the price of her next fix. Ellie had been half-wild then, and worldly-wise in that cold, weary way of ten-year-olds who have already seen what the future holds for them. But her mother was a stiffening corpse with a needle stuck in its arm and it was a bitterly cold winter day. It was either go with the strange man with the glowing eyes or lie down beside her mother and die. Ellie picked life.

Nick reached for the bottle again. There was a sound like sparks from somewhere in the middle of his head and the vision in his left eye flicked out completely. Exhaustion wrapped itself around him like a lead jacket and he let his hand drop.

"Dammit," he said. "Ellie, I'm busted up pretty bad. I think my systems are starting to power down. We met something tonight… I'm not sure exactly what it was, but it was a near thing. I'm gonna need help making it into bed. I can't walk you home and I don't want you going alone. Can you stay here? You can have the little room under the stairs, like old times. Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay, Nick." She reached down to take his hand, draping his arm over her shoulder as she helped him up the narrow stairs to the sleeping loft above. The bed there was tumbled over on its side, the blankets tossed in a pile in the corner. There was an exit leading out onto the rooftops beyond and Nick noted that it was still locked and barred from the inside, as he had left it. Ellie leaned him up against the wall while she set the bed back down and found a pillow, then got him out of his coat and hat, removed his shoulder holster and helped him lie down. It had been years since she'd thought of him as anything other than just Nick Valentine, the detective. Seeing him now lying on the bed with neither hat nor coat on, she was struck by how terribly not-human he appeared: neither man nor robot, but some unhappy fusion of the two. She pushed the thought away.

"This was a message," he said suddenly, struggling to prop himself up.

"Shhh," Ellie said, easing him back down again. "It's okay. Tell me tomorrow."

"No, listen. This was a message. If they'd just been looking for something, they wouldn't have trashed the place. This was a deliberate message. To me. And it says 'Stay out of it.' There isn't any other answer."

Ellie looked at him. "And will you?"

Nick snorted. "Are you kidding? Whoever did this, they're a bunch of amateurs. It's like something out of a dime store mystery novel. Trash my office, will you? What I'm gonna do, Ellie, I'm gonna find whoever it is, kick them in the pants from here to Sunday, then stick them with the damned clean-up bill."

Ellie laughed out loud. "That's the Nick Valentine we know and love. Now, sleep." She slipped his boots off and helped him slide his legs onto the bed. "I'll bring Arturo first thing tomorrow," she said. "He'll fix you right up."

"Thanks, kid," Nick answered indistinctly as unconsciousness stole over him.

She watched the light fade from his good eye, then stood there for a long moment afterwards before pulling the blankets up and tucking them around him. Going back downstairs, she made sure the door was secured, then took the little .38 out of her pocket and checked the load. It was a belly gun – the sights and hammer filed smooth so as not to interfere with a quick draw from inside a waistband or a pocket or a purse. It was a pretty little thing, too, pre-War, sized for a woman's hand and beautifully made. Nick had taken it off a raider and given it to her as a gift. She put it down in easy reach then went to find the broom and dustpan.

-OOO-

"So, Nick," Arturo said, grinning. "It looks like you had a very exciting night last night. Lucky for you, not _too_ exciting. I think we have your eye back in operation again, no?"

Nick blinked as Arturo's features swam slowly into focus. A slender, dark-complexioned man with thick, black hair, an infectious grin and a strong latino accent, Arturo was first and foremost a dealer in arms and ammunition. But his trade made him an able mechanic, and he was an artist with a soldering iron. Nick couldn't count the number of times Arturo had patched him up.

"Seems like it," he said, blinking again and looking around.

"Good. Your optic connections were completely burnt out on that side, but luckily there was no actual motor damage. A little wire I salvaged from an old radio, a few drops of solder, and presto. Follow my finger, now." Arturo held up a finger, moving it back and forth, up and down. Nick let his eyes follow, pleased to note how sharp his vision was in the light of the single bulb in its fixture in the ceiling. At the same time, he sent a series of queries down through his nervous network, feeling the uninterrupted flow of information out to his extremities and back that indicated smooth functioning of his motor systems. His repair circuits must have been working overtime in the night to judge from how hungry he was.

"Where's Ellie?" he asked.

"She went out to the market. She'll be back soon. Meanwhile, drink this." Arturo held out a bottle of whiskey – rough, but strong. "I think you need the calories. But don't forget to get some greens, too. Ellie should be feeding you better. I told her to see if there was any kale. Kale is very good for you. And broccoli – lots of anti-oxidants. Keeps you healthy. Man does not live by mutfruit alone."

Nick set the bottle on the table by the bed. "I'm mostly robot, Arturo. I live by whatever I shove into my converters."

"Sure, but it can't hurt, no? You come by some night, I'll fix you up with a nice salad. Might help give you some colour, too. While you're at it, I'll fix you up with something a bit heavier than that little peashooter you insist on carrying."

Nick glanced over to where his holster hung from a peg on the wall, the worn butt of his old Smith & Wesson .45 revolver poking out of it. "I'll stick with what I've got, thanks," he said. "Hard to show a clean pair of heels with a whole bunch of extra hardware bouncing around on your back."

"Well, you change your mind, you come see me. I'll give you a discount." Arturo stopped, hearing the sound of the outer door opening from down below. "That must be Ellie. Wait here."

Nick stretched, clasping his hands behind his head. "I'm not going anywhere," he mumbled to himself. He closed his eyes. So far, he reflected, he wasn't much farther along than he'd been 24 hours ago. The girl and her mysterious companion had to be Institute, of course. He had no actual proof of that, but it seemed pretty obvious. What the hell a pair of teenagers were doing wandering the Commonwealth alone was another question entirely, and one he needed to find answers to. Also, that business with the Courser. Might not have anything to do with him, of course. The Railroad and the Institute played their own deadly games, off in the shadows and the hidden corners. Probably all he'd been last night was collateral damage, an unlucky bystander who got sucked into someone else's drama. But it stunk of coincidence, and Nick had a profound distrust of coincidences.

Who had killed the girl, if not the boy? At the very least, he was a distinct person of interest, assuming he wasn't by now occupying a shallow grave of his own somewhere, or floating down the river.

Finally, how would he get word back to her people? Was that even possible? Or necessary? If the Institute really did have its feelers everywhere then they'd probably already seen a copy of _Publick Occurrences_ and were fully aware of what had happened. Perhaps that's why the boy had disappeared without a trace.

The Institute. People here lived in fear of being snatched up one night and having a perfect duplicate left in their place like some kind of bio-mechanical changeling. Or someone they knew and loved – a father or brother, son or mother, the person sleeping in the bed next to them. Unlikely as it seemed, it had happened. There had been the one famous case in Diamond City when an upstanding citizen went suddenly crazy, shooting down bystanders in cold blood. When he was finally killed he turned out to be a synth – a synthetic human, a biological robot, an almost perfect human duplicate, created by the Institute and sent out to live unawares among the people of Diamond City. That was years ago, but there had been rumours of others and everyone seemed to have a story of someone they'd heard of, or a friend of a friend who swore they'd seen it happen. Nick didn't put much stock in such stories, but in that, he was in the minority.

The Institute was what was left of the old Commonwealth Institute of Technology – the most prestigious research academy on the eastern seaboard before the war. After the bombs fell, it went underground, both literally and figuratively. No one actually knew where it was. Rumour said it was hidden in deep, bomb-proof bunkers somewhere near the ruins of the CIT campus, north of the river in Cambridge. There, it was said, people lived and worked in a technological paradise, free from the horrors of life on the surface. Since there was no one in the Commonwealth who openly professed an Institute connection, it was not clear to Nick how anyone here would know any of these things.

Despite his origins, Nick himself had no recollection of the place. His memories ended on a sunny day just before the War, when Nick Valentine the man had gone to the CIT for some testing. They re-started again long afterwards, the day he awoke to find himself as he was now: Nick the Synth, lying on a scrap heap, his memories transferred into this cruel, mechanical mockery of the man he remembered being.

None of it made any sense. The bunkers he could see. There'd been a private company, Vault-Tech, that had sold the promise of survival to hundreds of thousands of people across the USA and elsewhere just before the war. Buy a berth and ride it out safe and sound, hundreds of feet underground. Probably the Institute was something like that. But why interfere with human civilization above-ground? And why create synthetic humans, particularly ones that were copies of actual people, to infiltrate society?

The first rule in solving crime is to follow the money. Figure out how things are connected, look to see who benefits, and if it's not obvious, dig until it is. Once you can see where the money's going, nineteen times out of twenty it's straight to the guilty party. But with the Institute, there were no connections, nothing was obvious, and nobody benefitted. Nick filed it away as a mystery he would have to solve another day, if ever.

Which brought him back to the immediate question: why did the girl have to die?

Nick opened his eyes. There was a conversation going on downstairs, hushed voices speaking in urgent tones. Ellie, sounding worried, and another woman's voice - Piper from the newspaper. Arturo: "No, he's awake and alert. He'll be fine." Ellie: "Thank you, Arturo. I was worried about him." Nick smiled warmly. She'd been mothering him since she was a teenager. He quite enjoyed it. Then another man's voice, a stranger: "I can come back if this is a bad time?"

Nick grunted as he swung his legs out of bed and sat up. He experienced a moment of dizziness, then it passed. He reached for his hat and settled it firmly on his head. His old trench coat was folded up on the chair next to the bed, cleaned, brushed, and carefully mended. He slipped it on, flicking up the collar and tipping his hat at a jaunty angle. As an afterthought, he slipped Arturo's bottle into his pocket.

"Nick are you up?" Ellie met him at the foot of the stairs, a worried look on her face.

"Just coming. What's going on?"

"You've got company. He won't say who he is or what he wants. He seems pretty distraught. Piper brought him here. She and Arturo are just leaving, but she wants you to come by the newspaper after, if you have time."

"Sure." Nick looked past her into the office. The girl had been busy. Most of the evidence of last night's attack had been cleaned up and the room was swept and tidy. The cleanest he'd seen it in a while, actually. There was even a new typewriter on Ellie's desk and the old cigarette machine, which had been smashed into ruin, was gone. He felt a touch of annoyance, since any evidence the attackers might have left behind was also gone. He ignored it. Ellie was what kept him human, whatever that meant in his particular circumstance. Moreover, the detective agency couldn't have functioned without her. That always worried him, since one of these days he was going to lose her to some handsome young fellow, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. Which reminded him that he'd better check up on that new bartender friend of hers. She had a certain fondness for the bad ones, he'd noticed, a not-uncommon tendency among young women which Nick himself had had occasion to put to good use back in the old days. But that was different, and when Ellie finally gave her heart away Nick was going to make damned sure it was to someone who deserved it.

The stranger standing by the door was thin and sandy haired, just approaching middle age, with clear grey eyes and a neatly-trimmed beard. His clothes were worn, but neatly and lovingly patched: a tan shirt and trousers with a thin jacket over top and a faded, sweat-stained, checked kerchief tied around his neck. His skin was deeply tanned, with hands that were strong and hard from a lifetime of grubbing in the soil. Deep worry lines etched his face, but there was laughter, too, in the fine web of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He looked up as Nick walked into the room.

"I'm Nick Valentine," the detective said, holding out his hand – the one with skin on it, since the metal one tended to throw people off the first time they saw it.

"Blake Abernathy," the man said, taking his hand. To his credit, there was only the slightest hesitation, and his grip when it came was firm and friendly. Likely Piper had briefed him on what to expect on the way over. It was not possible to mistake Nick for anything but what he was: a robotic construct, more mechanical than biological. While he'd been prettied up a little with synthetic skin and a vocoder that allowed him to speak in human tones, he would never pass as human except in the dimmest light. Strangers to Diamond City generally reacted with surprise the first time they saw him and there'd even been weapons drawn on occasion.

Nick waved him to a chair and sat down himself. "Take a seat," he said. "Cigarette?" He pulled out his pack and shook one out. Abernathy shook his head. Nick leaned back, rolling the smoke between his fingers. "What can the Valentine Detective Agency do for you, Mr. Abernathy?"

Abernathy pulled a mud-spattered copy of _Publick Occurrences_ from his coat pocket. It had been folded back with the dead girl's photograph uppermost. "It's about Eva," he said. "About the girl in the newspaper."

Nick sat forward, suddenly alert. "The one who was murdered in the Dugout."

"Yes, that one. Is it true? Was she really murdered?"

"I'm afraid so." Nick's tone softened. "Did you know her?"

Abernathy nodded miserably. "This is all my fault," he said rapidly. "I told them it was dangerous. I begged them to stay, said they should wait until a caravan came by, or until I could come with them. I should never have let them go by themselves. I don't even know what they were doing here – they were supposed to be headed for Bunker Hill, not Diamond City." He took a deep breath. "What happened to her, Mr. Valentine? And where's Jeremy? Is he okay?"

"Slow down there, Mr. Abernathy, slow down," Nick said. He slipped Arturo's bottle out of his pocket. Ellie had put fresh glasses in the usual place in the top drawer, and he took two out and put them on the table. "I think you need one of these first, then why don't you start at the beginning?" He set the glasses up and poured two stiff drinks, sliding one over. "Ellie," he said over his shoulder. "Can you come here and take notes?" He turned back to Abernathy. "You okay with that? If Ellie writes down what you say?"

"Sure, sure." Abernathy took the glass in trembling fingers and sipped at it. He made a face. "I never touch this stuff," he said. "My Connie doesn't believe in it. But maybe you're right. Maybe this will help." He shook his head. "I can't believe she's dead."

Ellie settled herself into the other chair and crossed her legs, adjusting her skirt to cover her knees. She had a steno pad and pencil in her hand. She gave Nick a little nod to show she was ready.

"Okay then, Mr. Abernathy," Nick said. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

The farmer took another drink before setting the glass down and pushing it away from him. "You're certain there's no mistake?" he asked. Nick shook his head. Abernathy closed his eyes and took another deep breath, letting it out noisily.

"I farm the other side of the river," he began, "up close to the old Sanctuary Hills area. Me and my wife, Connie, my two daughters and a farmhand, been with us since my father ran the place. We usually get a few drifters come by around harvest time when we need all the extra bodies we can get, but mostly it's just us. We ain't getting rich, but we do okay. Get the odd party of raiders through, but they don't usually cause too much trouble. A farm's a good thing. Everyone needs to eat, even the raiders. I leave out a share of my crop, the local gangs leave me alone. Plus they keep the super mutants off. Sometimes I get enough extra I can come into town, pick up some supplies. I come in this morning, I'm in the market, I see this on the ground – Eva's face looking up at me from this newspaper. I can't believe my eyes."

He put his head between his hands and drew a breath that was half sob. "They were just at my place. It was just a few days ago, she was showing my Lucy a game with string that you do with your hands – a cat's cradle, or something. They were laughing like sisters. I haven't heard Lucy laugh like that in ages. She and my oldest, Mary, used to be best friends. But you know how girls are. One day they're all dolls and tea parties, the next thing they're posing in front of a mirror and worried what the boy down the road thinks. Lucy's been lonely for a long time. Having Eva in the house, even for only a couple of days… it was like a ray of sunshine just walked in the front door and sat down at the kitchen table. Lucy even took her out to help in the field. Just pulling weeds, but she set herself to it like it was the most important thing she'd ever done in her whole life." He looked up at Nick. "How did she die, Mr. Valentine? Who killed her?"

"I can't say just yet," Nick said. "We're still investigating. But it looks like the boy may have been involved somehow."

Abernathy looked at him sharply. "Jeremy? You think he might have killed her?"

Nick nodded. "It's possible."

He shook his head. "No, Mr. Valentine. Sorry, but that's not possible. If you'd seen them together you'd know. I never met two people who were more in love, like they'd spent their whole lives waiting for each other. Worst case of puppy dog eyes I ever seen." Abernathy looked at the whiskey on the table, looked away, then looked back at it. "Oh, hell," he said, "one more can't hurt."

"Plenty more where that came from," Nick told him, nodding toward the bottle. "Ellie, you getting all this?"

"Yes, boss."

"Good girl." Nick re-filled Abernathy's glass. "Carry on, Mr. Abernathy. How did you meet Eva and Jeremy?"

Abernathy took a drink. "Call me Blake. Mr. Abernathy, that's my father's name." He thought for a minute. "They showed up late, after sunset, maybe a week ago. They were lost. Tired, hungry. They'd been sleeping rough for a while, and it showed. They were scared, too. I think they'd been chased by half the bad guys north of the Charles. Lots of tough customers up there. You folks here in DC, you've got all these big walls to protect you, life's pretty easy here. It's different out in the wilds. Poor Jeremy was half dead – I don't think he'd slept in days from watching over her."

"Did they say where they came from?"

"Up north somewhere." Abernathy held out his empty glass. "Say, could I have a little more of this? Talking's thirsty work."

"Absolutely." Nick poured him another. "You were telling me where they came from."

"Well, that's a good question. They never really said, exactly. 'Up north' covers a lot of ground. I guessed New Hampshire and they agreed readily enough. But I have cousins up that way, and those kids sure didn't talk like any New Hampshireman I ever met. But I figured it was none of my business where they come from, so I sort of let it drop. It weren't no farm they were off of, anyway, I could tell that just by looking at them."

Abernathy took another drink and shifted position on the chair. "She was so beautiful, Mr. Valentine. I don't mean just that she was pretty; there's lots of pretty in the world, even though you wouldn't guess it some days looking around. I mean she was beautiful, like dew on a spider web when the sun hits it early in the morning, or when a baby falls asleep in your arms. Headstrong, too. When she got an idea in her head, there wasn't anything going to get in her way. And Jeremy, he was all in. He'd have followed her to the middle of Glowing Sea if she'd asked."

"What were they doing roaming around the Commonwealth, though? Did they say where they were going? What their plan was?" The farmer hadn't mentioned the Institute and Nick had decided not to bring it up.

Abernathy hiccupped. "I can't rightly say. They were a little vague on specifics. Come to think of it, they were a little vague on a lot of things. I'm pretty sure there was some kind of trouble with them leaving home, too, but they didn't want to talk about it and so I didn't push." He tipped back his drink to catch the last drop then set the glass down firmly and pushed it away from him.

"There was a fella they asked me about," he continued, "a trader name of Lenny Breckenridge, ran with an outfit called Billings and Sons out of Taunton. I never heard of either one, but Taunton's a long ways from here. That's why I said to go to Bunker Hill – all the caravans stop there."

He blew out a breath. "At least I made sure they got some proper equipment. They had a rusty old pipe pistol, looked like it'd blow up in your hand if you fired it, which they hadn't. For that matter, I don't think they'd ever fired a gun in their lives. I had a pair of target pistols, used to belong to my dad. Just .22s, but in good shape, accurate and reliable and not too heavy. Makes up for not having much punch. We did a little target practice, shooting cans off a fence post. They were good learners." He shook his head sadly. "I guess it didn't help much."

He stood up. "I wish I could be more help than this, Mr. Valentine, I really do. Those were good kids." He pursed his lips. "They were afraid. I could tell when they were getting ready to leave. Something out there had them afraid for their lives."

-OOO-


	6. The Cold Heart

_[Author's Note: Revised 11 March 2017]_

"Well," said Ellie after Abernathy left, laying down her pad and massaging her stiff fingers, "that was interesting."

Nick leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. He'd poured himself another whiskey and lit a cigarette and was now puffing away introspectively. "It does put a different spin on things, doesn't it?"

The farmer had finally gone, a little unsteady on his feet from the whiskey he'd drunk, taking a copy of the girl's photograph with him, with a promise from Nick that he'd let him know how it all worked out.

You find Jeremy," he said as he left, "he'll know what happened." He paused, his hand on the door. "If he's even alive. My Connie's going to be heartbroken when I tell her." And with that, he was gone.

After he left, Ellie worked transcribing her notes while Nick spread the garbage from the previous night's attack onto a blanket in the middle of the room and began picking through it. The room was quiet, with only the steady tick-tick-tick of the typewriter to break the silence. Abernathy's words stuck with Nick as he worked.

"I've been thinking about Lenny Breckenridge," he finally said. "There's something familiar about that name. After you finish up there, I want you to head over to the Mayor's office and see if they'll open up the City Archives for you."

"Diamond City has an archives?"

Nick grunted. "Not much of one. Just a few boxes in an oversized closet, really, but there's some good information in there. You might have to do some digging. And make sure McDonough's not around when you go. Talk to his secretary – she owes me a favour."

Ellie nodded. "Will do."

"I was also thinking you might want to go home, pack up a few things and go get a room down at the Dugout for the next couple days. Just until we get this thing settled. We'll close up the office here and you can do whatever needs to be done from there. I'd be a lot less worried with people around to keep an eye out."

"I'll do no such thing," she answered tartly, looking up from her typing. "Nick, if you think I'm going to run and hide then you don't know me very well. This is my place, too. I won't let anyone chase me out of it."

Nick grinned. "That's my girl. But you make sure to keep the door locked while I'm out. And don't let anyone in you don't know. I'll do a special knock – three then two – so you'll know it's me. I'd hate to have you put a bullet through my head because I couldn't remember your mother's name."

Ellie finished, pulling the last page from the typewriter then separating the carbon copies and clipping them together. She laid the original on Nick's desk and went to file the copy. "Nick," she said from the cabinet, holding the folder in her hand, "did you take a picture out of here?"

"Of the girl?" Nick looked up from where he was putting things away again. As expected, the garbage can had yielded no clues. "Just the ones you gave me. Why?"

"Well, that's what I thought." She pulled out an index sheet clipped to the envelope containing the original negatives and compared it to the contents of the case file. "There's a print missing."

He got up, dusting himself off, and came over. "You sure?"

She nodded. "I made 8x10 copies of all three negatives and they're all here. Plus the 3x5s I gave to you to hand out. But I also made a few 5x7's when I was setting up the exposures, and one of them is gone."

"You sure? It was a hell of a mess in here. It could still be under something."

She threw him a look. "Are you criticizing my cleaning skills, Nick? Because I'd be happy to let you take care of that part in the future, if you like." It was an empty threat. Nick might have been a top notch detective, but he was a terrible housekeeper and they both knew it. Ellie closed the file drawer. "Of course I'm sure," she added. "I made six 5x7s, and there are now only five left. If you haven't got one, then someone else does."

-OOO-

It was getting colder. A breath of frost was in the air and the clouds that had rolled in the night before hung thick and low, filling the sky in all directions, their bottom edges torn ragged by the chill wind sweeping down out of the north. Nick closed the door behind him and stood for a moment. A short, covered passage led from the door out to the shanty-lined alleyway beyond, where a small neon sign advertised the Valentine Detective Agency. Some ways to the left, the alley opened out into the city farms which, along with the water plant, took up the whole north half of Diamond City. Beyond that was the Great Green Wall itself. Some distance the other way, the alley crossed a side path leading to the market square, continuing on to where it opened onto the entrance plaza where the ramp leading up to the city gates began.

There was nothing of interest in the passageway. Ellie kept it swept clean as a general rule and all the traffic in and out that morning would have destroyed any evidence anyway. A couple, wrapped tightly against the chill, walked down the alley past him as he came out. "'Morning, Mr. Valentine," the man said cheerfully, touching the brim of his hat. "Looks like winter might finally be here." His wife smiled, too from beneath her heavy wrap, giving him a small wave as they passed. Nick nodded back and watched them go. Their teenage son had been accused in a string of break-ins some while back and he'd been able to prove the boy's innocence. He noted that they kept carefully to the narrow, makeshift boardwalk laid down the middle of the alley. The off-and-on rain over the last few nights meant that the ground on either side of the boardwalk was still soft and muddy.

With the alley now empty, he began casting back and forth, paying particular attention to the edges, off the boardwalk where there was no traffic. He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for. Anything, really, to show that someone had been there who wasn't supposed to be. Someone had come up this way last night and broken into his house, which meant at some point they had to have been in this alley. But how do you tell the difference between an innocent passerby stepping off the path to light a cigarette, and an interloper waiting with malicious intent?

Working his way back up the other side, Nick stopped suddenly, eyes narrowing. Like most of Diamond City, the buildings here were little more than shacks jammed tightly together with an occasional bit of tacked-on second storey poking precariously up from the rest or leaning out over the street. The short stretch past Valentine's was almost completely untenanted. Across from him were the windowless backsides of buildings fronting the street on the other side. To the right, his nearest neighbour housed a nursery, with racks of trays used to start seedlings before they were planted out in the spring. It would be a busy place come March, but this time of year it stood empty and unused.

Except today. Today there was a clear impression of a footprint in the soft earth in front of the door.

He eased the gun out of its holster under his arm and slipped off the safety. The alley was still empty. The door itself was closed, although he couldn't tell by looking if it was locked or not, and he wasn't prepared to try the knob just yet. The wall on this side was corrugated steel, no windows, the door of salvaged wooden planks in a wood frame, snug fitting but not tight. Neither wall nor door were solid enough to stop a bullet and if he wasn't careful, someone hiding inside would be able to tell exactly where he was just by listening. He didn't much feel like getting shot through a door this early in the morning.

He squatted down, uncomfortably aware of what an easy target he made hunkered down on all fours in the mud. The footprint looked fresh – less than a day old and just starting to crumble along the upper ridges where it had begun to dry out. It was a right foot, showing only the toe and front part of the sole, but deep. A short distance behind he could see a fainter impression of the left foot, another half print but this time angled away and scuffed to one side. The tread pattern was faint, but distinctive – some kind of soft, undifferentiated, crepe sole. A light shoe or calf-boot, then, rather than a heavy work boot or military gear. Either way, someone had been here, crouched unmoving in front of the door, up on their toes, their weight mostly on the front foot. Nick examined the door knob. The lock looked untouched, but a pair of light scratches on the jamb showed where something thin and narrow had been slipped between door and frame to work the bolt inward.

He straightened up. There was no particular reason why this should be anything more than simple coincidence. For a moment he considered reporting it to Security as a break-in. If there did turn out to be something nasty hiding there, let them be the ones to crash the door and take a bullet. But he discarded the idea immediately. Careful investigation wasn't the Diamond City way. If there was to be any possibility of preserving evidence, he'd have to do this himself.

Besides, he didn't believe in coincidences.

He put his gun in his outside pocket and took out his camera. He'd loaded fresh plates before leaving the office and now he got down again to take two careful photographs of the shoe prints. Putting the camera away, he pulled his gun again. Turning sideways to present as small a target as possible, he transferred it to his left hand, aiming through the door at about chest height. Taking care to avoid smudging the footprints and not to leave any of his own, he stepped in to where he could reach his right hand across his body and try the knob.

It was locked. He considered his options. The door opened inwards. Putting his shoulder to it and crashing through was probably the safest idea, all things considered, and he could bill the replacement cost to the Bobrovs as "additional expenses". But to do so ran the risk once again of destroying any evidence on the other side. More importantly, if anyone was using the shed as a hidey-hole, he'd rather they didn't know he knew about them.

He put his ear to the door and listened. Hearing nothing, he scanned the alley one more time then knelt down in front of the keyhole. From an inside pocket he drew out a thin, leather case, selecting from it a ring holding several skeleton keys of different styles. Although only middling skilled with a lock pick – computer terminals were more his thing – Nick was a competent enough break-and-enter man, and this was a simple ward lock, well-oiled and in good repair. In a few seconds he had snicked the bolt soundlessly back. He put the skeleton keys back into his pocket. Stepping to one side, he swung the door hard back on its hinges and heard it bounce back off the wall on the left side as he surged inside and to the right. For a split second he stood outlined in the doorway, then he was inside.

No gunfire erupted. The room was empty. He closed the door and relocked it, then fumbled around until he located a light switch. Flipping it on, he looked around.

The building consisted of a single, high-ceilinged room, narrow but deep, smelling not-unpleasantly of damp earth and decaying plant matter, like a well-turned compost heap. Wide shelves lined the walls on either side, with a stack of shallow trays piled in the corner closest to him. An assortment of gardening tools hung from hooks on the wall on one side of the door. On the other side, another small hook was affixed just above eye height, about where one might hang a spare key. A pile of burlap sacks was heaped untidily against the far wall. The floor in between was dirt, but dry and packed hard as concrete, and held no obvious footprints.

Nick searched the room carefully, starting at the door and working his way down toward the pile of sacking at the end. The shelves were bare, the boxes containing only what he would have expected. But the jumble of sacks held a slight warmth. Not much, but noticeably greater than the room itself. About a couple hours, he figured, since a body had lain wrapped up in them to keep off the cold. Whoever it was had left just before dawn, then, while it was still dark enough to slip out without being seen. Fallen down behind the sacking were the remains of a loaf of bread, long and narrow, the kind a farm wife might bake. It was just the barest rind of a heel end, but it hadn't been mice that left those teeth marks.

Nick stood up and dusted off his hands. Someone had been here only hours before. He had a hunch that that it was the boy, Jeremy. But where he was now remained a mystery.

-OOO-

Back outside, Nick re-locked the door. Not for the first time he missed the days when he worked with a partner. There was always Ellie, of course, but he wouldn't willingly put her in harm's way and she wasn't suited to this kind of cloak-and-dagger skulking around anyway. Although he didn't imagine anyone was coming back before nightfall, the thing to do would be to lock himself into the shed and wait. But before he could do that, he had another lead to check and so he teased a length of thread from the inside lining of his coat, wet it down and stuck it inconspicuously across the door jamb. It was an old trick, but an effective one. If the thread was still there when he returned, it would mean the door hadn't been opened.

His next stop was the Diamond City central security station, looking for Beddoes. "Out on patrol," he was told, curtly. Whistling to himself, Nick went for a walk, cutting through the marketplace then up toward the main gate. He ran into Beddoes near the chapel where Father Clement worked.

"Beddoes," he said, stepping out in front of the security man.

Beddoes jumped in surprise, then recovered himself when he saw who it was. "I got nothing to say to you, Valentine," he growled, hefting his bat. "Get the hell outta my way before I crack your synth skull."

"Now, now, don't be that way," the detective chided lightly. "Maybe I was a little hard on you last time. I used to be a flatfoot myself, back in the day, I know what it's like. Maybe we can be friends, you and me. Go for beers, chase girls, shoot a little pool, that sort of thing."

"We ain't gonna be nothing, Valentine. I got work to do. I got no time for mugs like you."

"That so, Beddoes? Because I heard a story recently about a guy looked a bit like you, skipped out with some property belonging to a con named Marowski over by Goodneighbour. I hear Marowski'd pay pretty well to find out who jacked his chems."

Beddoes paled. "Get stuffed, Valentine," he said. "I never been anywhere near Goodneighbour, and I don't know anyone named Marowski."

"I'm pretty sure you do, Beddoes. It was about the same time you showed up here. Marowski's people don't come here very often, and they aren't welcome when they do. Makes it pretty safe for a punk like you. But it doesn't mean it can't happen."

"Lay off me, why don't you? What the hell I ever do to you? I tried to help you once, you threw me at a wall."

"Well, that's true isn't it? Maybe I was a bit hasty that time. Let's start over. Let's say maybe I believe your story. Why don't you run it past me again, maybe walk me through it? Might be worth a few more caps if I find what I'm looking for."

"Why'n hell should I trust you?"

Nick shrugged. "Up to you, pal. You going to show me where the kid went, or not?"

Beddoes stared at Valentine for a moment, then shouldered his bat and motioned for the detective to follow. "It was like this," he said, walking down toward the tables in the little plaza in front of the Dugout. "I was standing here, just up toward the market. I see Vadim Bobrov dragging a couple drunks out and dumping them on the bench there." He pointed. "I was thinking maybe I should call a wagon, and I looked away, then looked back, and then there's this kid, right outta nowhere, like I said, standing there by the bench, looking up and down – to see if the coast is clear, like. And he must not have seen me, because he starts out walking down the street like he owned it.

"You said before he was skipping."

"Yeah, skipping. Dancing, like, whistling to himself and sort of doing this little shuffle step like he'd just won the lottery. He was in a good mood alright."

"And this was about 3:30?" Nick said. They'd been walking as Beddoes told his story. The main road turned left here. But a narrow side alley branched off to the right, past a small warehouse where there was a bit of a courtyard in the angle between two buildings. Beyond that it opened up to where the shallow, stagnant pond that was the source of Diamond City's drinking water lay. A wooden walkway on the far side led out to Kawloski's water purification and bottling plant, and beyond that were the city's farms. Nick's nose twitched at the smell rising from the foul water.

"It look to you like I'm wearing a watch? How the hell would I know? It was three when I checked in at the station a little earlier, so, yeah, maybe something like that. Anyway, I let him come past the Dugout ahead of me, then I put the grab on him and asked him where the hell he thought he was going. You'd have thought I was the Devil calling his name. Damn near pissed himself."

"What did he say?"

"Well, just 'out for a walk' something like that. But it was clear to me there was something else going on."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Because of your trained police instincts, I suppose."

Beddoes managed to miss the sarcasm. "Yeah, something like that. Kid was nervous as a rat in a cat factory. So I says to him 'You're gonna have to come with me' and all of a sudden he slips out of my hands and lights out like he had a rocket up his ass. I never seen anyone move that fast. I ain't no slouch in the speed division, but there was no way I was gonna catch him. Still, I was only a couple steps behind. He hung a right down the alley here, and when I come around the corner, I can't see hide nor hair of him." He gestured out across the wide expanse. "It's like I said before: I got here and he was gone. And it doesn't matter what you say or think. I was straight as a judge and I lost him." He shook his head. "Kid musta doubled back, maybe hid in those bushes over there, although I checked pretty carefully. Anyway … that's the truth, Valentine, and I don't care if you believe me or not."

"Well, Beddoes, fact is I do believe you. And I'll show you why." Nick led the security man to the angle between the two buildings where the side alley branched off. "Kind of thought I might find something like this," he said, squatting down. "Look here." The ground was soft and a little boggy owing both to the recent rain and the proximity of the pond, and the oblique rays of the low, December sun clearly outlined a single set of deep footprints, long and narrow with the same distinctive sole as he'd seen in front of the nursery. Nick pointed to them. "He stood here. You came around and he was here all along, standing with his back to the building just waiting for you to go away."

"Nuh-uh, Valentine. I stood here for half a minute shining my light around. I never seen no one."

"And yet, here he was."

"Oh, man." Beddoes went white. "He musta had one of them stealth boys, didn't he? I heard about them. And I walked right past him. He coulda capped me there where I stood, I'd never even known he was there. Dammit, that ain't playing fair."

"The bad guys never do, Beddoes. And it seems like I owe you an apology."

Beddoes waved him off. "Forget about it, Valentine. I heard about you. Danny Sullivan says you're alright, so maybe you are. Now what about my caps?"

Valentine counted out 50 caps. Beddoes stashed them then turned to go. He stopped and looked back.

"Hey, Valentine."

Nick looked up from where he was examining the ground again. "What?"

"That jet – it was mine, okay? Like you said. I admit it. But I was clean that night, I swear to you."

"I believe you, Beddoes. Don't worry about it."

"No, I mean really. I been using a long time. But my old lady, she told me yesterday either the jet goes or I do. So I went and saw Doc Crocker last night. He gave me a shot he says will help me get off it. Not sure if I can do it, but I'm gonna try."

"Huh. Well, then, I really do owe you an apology."

The guard grinned suddenly. "Yeah, you do. But it's partly on account of you, too. Plus it was your caps paid for the shot. So let's call it even. Maybe you need a favour sometime, you could call me."

"Maybe I will."

After Beddoes left, Valentine went over the ground again, more carefully this time. There was another set of footprints there, too, on a higher, drier patch a little to one side and behind. Scuffed up and hard to see, but they were there. The boy hadn't been the only one who'd waited, stealthed, in that alley.

-OOO-

Light snow was starting to fall. Winter weather was always hit-or-miss in Boston, even before the bombs dropped: one day snow, the next day rain, the day after that light sweaters and windbreakers. This close to Christmas it was more likely to be the former than the latter, and Nick cast a worried glance at the sky. Nothing covered up the ugliness in the Commonwealth quite so well as a blanket of new-fallen snow. But a heavy fall could shut the trails for weeks, and a long cold snap would drive the outland raider gangs into the settled areas in search of food and safe lodgings. Winter could make the Commonwealth even more dangerous than usual.

Ellie was at her desk when he got back to the office, pencil in hand, a box of old files at her elbow and two more at her feet, a folder open on the desk in front of her that she was reading. She looked up at him, tucking back an errant strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes. "This is incredible stuff, Nick," she said, gesturing at the folder. "Did you know Diamond City used to have a brass band? They played concerts every Sunday from a bandstand in the Market, where Takahashi's is now. "

"Fascinating," Nick said. "What about our friend Breckenridge? Any luck?"

She frowned at the strand of hair, which had come loose again. "Yes, in fact. Lenny Breckenridge, junior trader with Billings and Sons Trading Company, running out of Taunton with six teams and 30 men on the payroll, specializing in guns, explosives and ammunition. But I don't know how helpful it's going to be. " She pulled out a different folder and opened it to a page she'd bookmarked. 'In Memoriam' it said across the top, and below it a list of names.

"I don't understand," Nick said, taking it. "What am I looking at?"

Ellie pointed. "Look there, near the bottom, below where it says 'Missing, Presumed Eaten'. He's there. This is a list of people who died defending Diamond City when the super mutants attacked in 2180. Nick, Lenny Breckenridge has been dead for more than a hundred years."

-OOO-


	7. The Heart of Darkness

"How can that be?" Nick asked. "Are you sure it's the same guy?"

Ellie nodded. "The profile matches what we know, which admittedly isn't much. They were ambushed outside the walls and the whole convoy was wiped out, including Breckenridge and both of the sons in Billings and Sons. No bodies were recovered. When he got the news, the old man basically died of a broken heart and the company folded."

Nick read through the names again. "I'm not saying you're wrong about the date; I suppose I can think of a few different ways a dead guy from 2180 could show up playing stork 80 years later. But none of them seem very reasonable." He gave her back the file. "The other thing is, Taunton's a far piece from here. Far enough you probably wouldn't run into anyone else from there if you happened to be using the name as cover, but close enough so you wouldn't really stand out. Maybe 'adoption' is just a fancy word for good, old-fashioned baby snatching. But why would the Institute be taking babies out of the Commonwealth?"

"Well if it makes you happy, I thought much the same thing. But someone in the Mayor's Office is pretty interested in traders working in the Commonwealth. I found a list covering the last 25 years: company name, bios, routes, specialties." She shook her head. "He's not in there. No Breckenridges, no Billings, no Sons. I can pull it out if you want to look at it."

"No, I believe you." He went to over rummage through the ammunition box in the corner. "I might need to make a run out to Bunker Hill before the snow hits," he said over his shoulder. "Maybe one of the traders there will remember a guy by that name wandering these parts, fifteen or twenty years ago."

"What's going on?" Ellie asked, watching him worriedly.

"I've got to run a stakeout." He stuffed a box of spare shells in his pocket and, after a moment's consideration, a pair of fragmentation grenades. "I'm thinking I might have a line on our runaway. Maybe we'll finally start getting some answers instead of just more questions."

And with that, he was gone.

-OOO-

Stepping out the door, Nick ran straight into Danny Sullivan coming to find him.

"Nick," he said without preamble. "Did you ever find Cricket? Vadim Bobrov said you were looking to talk to her about your murder case."

"No," Nick answered. "She's on my 'to do' list, but every time I turn around it seems to be getting longer instead of shorter. What's she to you?"

"Missing. No one's seen her since the night before last. A couple of her boys were up at the Mayor's office today, had some words with him about it. I guess he wasn't too happy, on account of they mighta hung him upside down out a window for a while. So, he came marching down to the station and had some words with the Captain, who had some words with me, and now here I am."

"Having words with me."

"Amazing, the power of words." Danny grinned. "Nick, I checked the gate logs and there's no record of her leaving town, so unless she grew wings and flew out, she's here somewhere. Probably she just got high somewhere and still hasn't come down. Or maybe she's jammed up under the intakes at the water plant. But since you're looking for her anyway, it'd be an awful favour to me if you'd ask around a bit. I'd owe you one."

Nick looked up at the sky, the low clouds thick with unshed snow. "If they don't get on the road soon, they could be stuck here for a month," he said. "I don't think Diamond City could handle a month of Cricket and her boys." He frowned. "Look – I'll do a bit of poking around, okay? I can't promise anything. But maybe you can help me with something while I'm at it. Come walk with me, but keep it casual. I'll explain in a minute."

The two strolled down the alley toward the market, chatting about nothing. Nick had a particular fondness for Danny Sullivan. There'd been Sullivans in the Boston PD before the War, brothers, redheads - competent, honest men with the same spray of freckles and friendly, lopsided grins. Danny reminded him of them and he wondered if there was a blood connection.

He was still talking: "Solomon from the market was up at the station this morning, too. He's got a crazy story about bogeymen living in his house, wanted us to come back and look around. High as a kite, most likely. Still - " Danny trailed off.

"What?"

"It was weird. He was really wound up about it. I had a hard time getting anything out of him, and that's not like him. The other funny thing is - he wasn't at his stall yesterday. And that's not like him either. First your dead girl, then Cricket, now this. Makes me wonder if there isn't something going on. " He looked around. "What is it we're after, anyway?"

Nick glanced surreptitiously at the door of the nursery as they went by. There were no new footprints and his thread-trap was still intact. "Don't look now," he said quietly, "but I'm pretty sure someone's been sleeping in the nursery station."

Danny kept his eyes forward. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna stake it out tonight, see if I can put the grab on them. Maybe it's no one, maybe it's my murderer. But I got this idea they won't make a move until after dark, so we have time." Nick shook out a cigarette, holding the pack out. Danny shook his head. Nick lit up and puffed meditatively. "I don't know what to say about Cricket," he said, finally. "But I could swing by Solomon's, anyway, see if there's anything to his story. Meantime, you want to help me out, you could put a man on the roof there, low down and back a ways where he can keep an eye on the nursery door. Have to be someone with a knack for staying still, though. I don't want him to move and spook my guy. "

Danny nodded. "Consider it done."

-OOO-

Solomon shivered, stamping his feet to keep warm. "Chems!" he called hoarsely. "Get your chems here!" He was tall and gangly, hollow-cheeked, with long, reddish-gold hair and beard, both liberally streaked with grey. He was badly underdressed for the weather in a worn t-shirt with ragged jeans rolled up at the cuff, an old blue tennis visor on his head and battered sneakers on his feet. His cheeks were red from the cold and his teeth chattered as he made his pitch to passers-by on the sidewalk. "Chems!" he repeated. "All your favourite chems, self-prescribed by me, myself and I. All-natural, all organic, brewed fresh right here in Diamond City, using only the purest of all-natural ingredients! Chem-I-care! Don't worry, be happy!"

He paused to take a drag from the fat, hand-rolled joint he was holding, keeping it in before exhaling a long stream of pungent smoke into the wintry air. He waved cheerily as Nick came up. "Hey, Detective Dude," he called.

Nick nodded back. "Solomon. How are things?"

"Cold, man," he answered, shivering and taking another hit. "Like it's winter or something." He exhaled a pair of large, wobbly smoke rings that were quickly blown apart by the chill breeze swirling through the market.

"Might be time to invest in a coat," Nick observed, pointing to where the other stall owners had donned heavy sweaters and scarves. Even the half-mad security robot that ran Takahashi's noodle stall had a grey, knitted cap pulled securely down over his upper sensor array.

Solomon shook his head vehemently. "No way, man. This is the Chem-I-Care brand. Diamond City's only self-prescribed pharmacy! People see me like this, right away they think of the product. That's what marketing's all about. You go around changing your brand, people will start thinking they can't trust you." He pointed at the detective. "Just imagine how you'd look in yoga pants and a tank top."

Nick laughed. "Point taken. Look, Solomon, Danny Sullivan tells me you're having some problems."

"Oh, man. What'd he go and do that for? I just got a bit spooked this morning is all." Solomon stopped to wave at a pair of farmers. "Get your chems here! Chem-I-care! You cheap bastards," he added under his voice as they walked on. He turned back to Nick. "It was just the jet, man. Jet'll make you jittery."

"Just humour me, okay?" Nick said. "Since I already made the walk over here. What happened?"

Solomon shook his head. "Sure, man. But it was nothing. Just bad dreams, monsters and shit… and screaming." He blinked rapidly several times. "Things screaming."

"What is it? You told Danny there was something in your house."

Solomon seemed confused. "I think… I think someone broke into my place a couple nights ago."

"You think? Don't you know?"

He scratched his chin and his eyes got a faraway look. "Well, that's the funny part," he said slowly. "They never took anything. I don't think. Or maybe they did but they replaced it with stuff that looks exactly the same so I couldn't tell the difference." His eyes widened as the realization struck him. "That's probably exactly what they did," he said excitedly. "Oh, man. How sick is that?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Pretty sick, alright. Look, Solomon -"

He held up his hand. "Shhh…" he said, looking suspiciously around. He lowered his voice. "It's gotta be synths. Like, who else but a synth would even think of something like that? Sorry, dude; no offense. But it's totally the Institute way, right? Like, my couch could have been switched for some kind of alien robot couch. If I had a couch. Or my hairbrush. Or my clothes." He looked down at himself in sudden horror. "Man … my clothes. My clothes could be synths, just waiting for me to fall asleep so they can suck out my brain and eat it." In a sudden panic he frantically began to strip, peeling his t-shirt up over his head and throwing it at the detective. "Nick, man, you gotta do something," he shouted, undoing his belt and starting to wriggle out of his pants.

"Easy there, guy. Relax." Nick picked up the t-shirt and held it up, grabbing Solomon by the shoulder with the other hand. "Look at the label."

Solomon stopped, pants partway down over his hips. He squinted at the tiny writing, mouthing the words as he read slowly aloud: "Made in China. 100 per cent cotton."

"See?" Nick said. "All natural fibre. No synthetics at all. You're completely safe."

Solomon sighed in relief. "That's right, too," he said, wiping his brow. "Man, that was close. I've never been eaten by my own clothes before." He pulled up his pants and reached for the shirt. "It's a good thing you were here, man, otherwise I'd be stark naked and halfway to Goodneighbour by now. What do I owe you?"

The detective waved him off. "It's on the house. Look, I'm kind of busy right now. Are we done here?"

Solomon gestured helplessly. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to get all crazy on you." He looked around. "I'm… " He paused. "Fact is, I'm afraid to go home. I think my house wants to kill me."

"Really? Like your clothes turning into synths and eating your brain? "

Solomon laughed. "Hell no, man. My clothes have hated me for years. You'd think I'd be used to that shit by now." He fluttered his hands. "This is different."

Nick blinked slowly. "I can hardly wait," he said. "Lead the way."

Solomon led the way. "I was testing a new batch after closing," he explained as they walked. "Night before last. Day Tripper. Great stuff, you know? No weird visions, nothing crawling inside your skin trying to get out, nobody's face dripping off onto the floor. Just charisma in a bottle. You want to get laid, this is the stuff. Women, men, electric can openers – whatever you're into, this'll do it. I got a special this week, too, if you're interested."

Nick winced. "No, but thanks."

"Well, okay then, but you don't know what you're missing. Anyway, so, Wednesday night, I'm sitting there, just feeling the buzz start from the Day Tripper and thinking about lighting up a joint, and then the next thing I know, I'm waking up in my bed this morning, feeling like I just ran a marathon, with a head like someone was using it for sledgehammer practice. Total blackout, man. Thirty-six hours, completely gone."

A light snow was falling again. They stopped to let a group of school children race by, their teacher hurrying to catch up. Nick nodded at the man as he passed. "I don't understand," he said. "You got high and passed out? Sounds like an occupational hazard to me."

Solomon shook his head. "No way, man. I've been self-prescribing for a long time. If I lose 36 hours, it's because I wanted to. You straights never get it. People who get in trouble with chems, it's because they don't know what they're getting themselves into. I don't make that mistake."

Nick grunted. "You must've got a bad batch, then."

"Dude, do I tell you how to detect stuff? I mix up all my own chems, in my own lab, using only the highest-quality, locally-sourced ingredients. My body is my temple, man. Nothing goes in without me knowing exactly what's in it and what it's going to do to me." He looked up. "Here we are.

Solomon's house was a windowless, single-story building jutting out from an otherwise untenanted part of the middle-deck stands overlooking the water plant, above what had once been right field. The front of the house, where it stuck out, was supported on sturdy wooden posts, with a single door near one end opening onto a small balcony at the top of a short flight of metal stairs. Solomon started up the steps then slowed, finally stopping short at the top so that Nick bumped into him from behind.

"Now what?" Nick said impatiently.

"Nothing, man, it's all good." Solomon turned his head and closed his eyes. His lips were moving as if he was talking to himself, Nick stepped backward, watching him suspiciously. Solomon grimaced, then seized the knob and wrenched the door open, his eyes still screwed shut as he reached in blindly to switch on the lights. He cringed as if in anticipation of a blow before finally opening his eyes. "There's no one here," he said, sighing with relief.

"Were you expecting someone?" Nick ushered him through the door then stepped in after him.

The inside consisted of two square, windowless rooms connected by a bead-curtained archway and dimly lit with strings of red and green bulbs. Music issued from a player in the corner: low and soft, the eerie wailing of flutes rising and falling against the sound of strings. The air was thick with the sweet smell of incense mixed with old cigarette smoke and stale beer, spilled wine and the sour musk of sweat. Posters were tacked to the walls and the floor was covered wall-to-wall with thick, soft carpeting. Throw pillows were scattered throughout the front room, and here and there were low, wooden tables littered with ashtrays and empty bottles. A large, skull-shaped water pipe sat in a lighted niche in the middle of one wall. Through the arch was a bedroom, empty save for a huge round bed set on a low pedestal.

Nick raised an eyebrow as he stepped inside. "Looks like a helluva party."

Solomon laughed nervously. "Dude, this is The Palace of Earthly Enchantments. It's always a helluva party. Not so much during the week, but it gets pretty trippy come the weekend. You wouldn't believe some of the shit goes down in these rooms. You should drop by. We don't get many robot chicks, but I can pass the word. Wouldn't be the craziest thing we ever seen in here."

"Thanks. I'll take a rain check.

Solomon stayed by the door as Nick took out his flashlight and began working his way around the room. "It would help if you had some better lights in here," he grumbled. He sniffed at the charred remains in the bowl of the skull pipe and a memory ghosted up: opium. A shelf along one wall held a variety of drug paraphernalia and other things – pipes in all shapes and sizes, syringes and tie-offs all jumbled together next to an old vase full of discarded needles, a stack of pre-War books in pristine condition piled carelessly against an empty wine bottle with a candle stuck in it, trails of melted wax running down its sides and across their covers.

Finishing in the living room, he passed through the beaded curtain into the bedroom with its huge, round bed. It was a little cleaner, but not much. On the bed, the bedclothes were rumpled and tossed aside, the sheets stained and pocked with cigarette burns. Erotic art in a variety of styles covered the walls and ceiling - clearly a work in progress added to by many hands over the years. Nick was surprised at the number of familiar faces he saw peeking out from among the entwined bodies writhing their way around the room.

"The Temple of Heavenly Delights," Solomon said, coming up beside him. He had lit another joint and was puffing furiously on it. Sweat was beading his forehead. "Man, if these walls could talk. It's a good thing I don't have neighbours."

Nick was staring at a particularly improbable coupling. "I'll bet," he said. He nodded toward the door. "Where does that go?"

"Workshop." Solomon swallowed convulsively. "Lab, storeroom, supplies - buncha junk, you know. There's a back door, but I don't use it."

"Have you been back there recently?"

"No. Coupla nights ago. Not today. It was pretty freaky in here when I woke up. I didn't stick around."

"And now?"

A line of sweat ran down his temple. "Oh yeah, it's just as bad. I'm not holding it in very well over here, man, I gotta tell you." He swallowed again, licking his lips. "I just can't grab onto it. It's like, you know when you've got something and it's right there, but it just won't come? Like a word on the edge of your tongue but when you try to reach for it, it's gone? It's like that. "

"Not to be rude, but I don't see this being a particularly unusual state for you."

"No way, man." Solomon shook his head vehemently. "I don't do shit like that." He put his hand on Nick's arm, squeezing it hard. "This is different." He stared around himself, eyes wide with horror. "Can't you feel it?"

Nick shook his head. "Feel what?"

"The blackness, man, the negative energy. It's everywhere. How can you not feel it? It's like the heart of fucking darkness in here." His voice fell to a ragged whisper. "Nick, I think something really bad happened. But I can't remember what it was." He jumped suddenly, staring wildly around. "Christ! Did you hear that?" he whispered. "Listen!"

Nick held still. From the other side of the door he heard a faint, high-pitched keening wail, rising and falling, distant and unearthly and just on the edge of audibility. Solomon was staring at him, wide-eyed. "You hear it too!" he said. "I know you do."

He started to turn away then stopped suddenly. As if of its own volition his body turned and he took a step toward the door. "Nick," he said, his voice a strangled rasp. "I was wrong before, about the heart of darkness. It's not everywhere. It's only there. Behind the door." Another step. "The evil that men do, man. It's in my house." He took another step forward, his feet dragging him bodily toward the door. Nick swallowed hard. The keening noise was louder, rising to an anguished wail like an animal caught in a trap. Solomon reached for the doorknob with a trembling hand, his face twisted in terror, tears rolling down his face. "Nick, man," he whispered. "It's screaming my name. It's begging me to stop. Make it stop."

Nick broke the spell, pivoting on one foot and catching Solomon in a flying tackle, driving him from the door. They landed in a heap on the ground. Solomon cowered, his mouth working as if woken from a dream. "Shit, man, we gotta get the fuck out of here!"

Nick snarled, scrambling to his feet as he reached for his gun. He whirled to face the door. "Get Danny Sullivan," he ordered over his shoulder. "Tell him I need him. Tell him it's important."

Solomon rolled over and began curling up into the fetal position, "I can't, I can't. Oh shit, man, oh fucking shit. What the hell is in there?"/p

"I think I know. Now knock off the damned noise and go get Sullivan." Nick swung a kick at the distraught Solomon, propelling him bodily into the front room. He yelped in pain, but the blow seemed to shake him out of his panic and he scuttled out the door, stumbling and falling down the steps outside.

Nick turned back to the door and raised his gun, holding it two-handed and squinting down the barrel. He adjusted his stance and a memory surfaced: standing in a gym lit by high windows along one wall, in a line with the other recruits while a training sergeant demonstrated proper firing position. As fast as it came the memory slipped away and he was back in the darkened room with its ridiculous bed, the noise from behind the door rising and falling, and for the first time ever, he wished he was carrying something a little more substantial.

-OOO-

After an eternity of waiting, Danny arrived flanked by two security men – Beddoes and one other. They were panting from the run. Beddoes nodded at Nick and hefted his bat. Nick gestured for them to stay quiet.

"What the hell's going on?" Danny asked in a low voice. "Solomon's nearly hysterical. All I got was that that you were here and there was trouble. And what the hell's that noise?" He held a semi-automatic shotgun at the ready, a short, heavy bayonet fixed to the business end.

Nick pointed. "Something on the other side of that door," he said.

"Yeah, I never would've guessed. What is it?"

"I don't know. Maybe the same thing I met up with last night. Tough and mean, if it is. Really mean. Maybe stealthed. "

"Back door?"

"Yeah. If we're lucky, maybe it will run away."

"If it's that dangerous, maybe we don't want it to." Sullivan motioned to the other security men. "Get around the back, cover the exit, stay hidden," he ordered. "Something comes out, you let it get past you then take it from behind. Remember – it might be stealthed. Invisible, like. Look for things moving that shouldn't be, or a shimmer in the air, like asphalt on a hot day. And keep your ears open. Otherwise, you hear shooting, you come through. But make sure you know who you're aiming at before you start swinging. Got it?" They nodded grimly and hurried out.

"Okay, Nick," he said after they were gone. "Just how tough are we talking about here?"

"If it's what I think it is, probably we can't take it."

"Great. Remind me to just say 'no' next time." Danny grinned. "Now you owe me, Valentine. Give them another minute then let's take this door." He hefted his shotgun. "You do the kicking, I'll do the shooting."

Nick tried the knob gently. It moved in his hand. He looked back at Danny, pointed through the door and held up three fingers. Danny nodded, moving around to give himself a clearer field of fire. The wailing noise was louder now. Nick counted down, mouthing the words: One, two three! He twisted the knob and then he was through, throwing himself forward in a diving roll to give Danny a clear shot. He hit the floor and twisted sideways, coming up on one knee, head low, gun extended, expecting but not hearing the boom of the shotgun in his ear. It was the worst way to clear a door imaginable and he could hear his buddies from the force laughing at him for it. But it didn't matter. No shots were fired, no explosions rocked the room. For the moment, he was alive.

Bright light poured from two large skylights in the ceiling. Shelves lined the walls on either side, piled high with bunsen burners and test tubes and other tools of the chemist's trade, with twin sinks against the back wall next to an outside door. In the middle of the room stood a long, wide, worktable. Tied spread-eagled to it, a rough gag stuffed into her mouth, was the trader, Cricket. She was naked. A pattern of brutal, bloody welts criss-crossed her body from her knees to her shoulders, and blood, some of it fresh, some dried and black, covered the table top and spattered the floor below it. She turned her head, her eyes wide with horror. The keening noise now filled the room and it was coming from the table. It was Cricket, screaming over and over again through the gag.

-OOO-


	8. The Shattered Heart

[Author's Note: Revised 25 Feb 2017, following some excellent critiques from the unassailable Alexeij, and others, also to fix up the ending. No real plot changes except for the very end, which leads better into the next chapter. Now maybe I can get started on Chapter 9. We are closing in on the home stretch, ladies and gentlemen. I think. Thanks to all of you who have come this far.]

-OOO-

Doctor Amari closed her medical bag with a snap. "That's twice in two days you've had me out here, Nick. Now you really owe me." She smiled at the detective where he sat sprawled in a chair reading a newspaper. "At least this one's still alive."

Nick folded his paper away and came over to look down at Cricket lying stretched out asleep on the gurney. Fluid dripped steadily through a tube running from her arm up to an IV bag hanging from a hook on the wall, and she was swathed in bandages. She was a small woman, tiny, even, her face painfully thin with deep shadows pocketing her eyes and dull, stringy hair falling in twisted snarls from her head. Her skin was pasty and unhealthy looking, her lips cracked and swollen. Her expression even in repose was a permanent scowl.

"This one's had a hard time of it," Amari said softly, brushing back a strand of Cricket's hair. "I don't just mean in the last day or so, although that too. Some of her scars are nearly as old as she is."

"What can you tell me?" Nick said.

-OOO-

In retrospect, untying Cricket had been a mistake. It had taken three of them to hold her down – Nick and Danny each on an arm with the other security man holding onto her flailing legs like grim death while Beddoes injected her with a sedative he'd found in Solomon's stock of chems. Even so, none of them escaped unscathed. "Don't you dare tell anyone it was a broad what done this," Beddoes had warned. He was limping badly and one eye was swollen shut. The other guard nodded glumly, his tongue poking at the hole where his front teeth had been. "We'll just say it was deathclaws and leave it at that," he agreed.

Besides Cricket, the room was empty. No monsters, stealthed or otherwise, crouched beneath the table or hid in the storage closet that opened off to one side. Nor did the back door show any signs of tampering. Whoever had been in that room had left by the front door. There could only be one logical suspect, and Danny sent the others to bring Solomon in for questioning.

"I can't believe he'd do such a thing," he said unhappily after they left. "I've known Solomon all my life. Happiest guy I ever met. But this?" He shook his head. "Cricket's as crazy as a three-headed molerat. I don't suppose there's anyone on the force who doesn't wish she'd stay as far away from DC as possible. But this isn't right."

"It does seem a bit out of character for Solomon," Nick agreed from where he was searching the rest of the room. He came back holding a rag he'd taken out of one of the sinks. "Smell this."

Danny sniffed at it. A sweet, chemical odour, but an unfamiliar one. "I don't recognize it," he said. "What does it mean?"

"It means whoever did this isn't just a sadist, they're a murderer." Nick folded up the rag and put it in a bag he'd found under the sink, writing "Cricket" on it in ink and putting it in his pocket. "It's the same stuff that was used to kill the girl at the Dugout two nights ago."

He ran his eye across the shelves lining the walls of the lab. Rows of identical, carefully-stoppered bottles filled them, each precisely aligned and neatly labelled. Tall jars of dried and powdered herbs filled an oversized shelf above the sink, and on the countertops were bits of glassware and other equipment – retorts and beakers, graduated cylinders and loops of glass and copper tubing, all lovingly arranged. The whole thing was a monument to tidiness and couldn't have contrasted more with the chaos of the rest of the house. As a consequence, Nick found what he was looking for almost immediately. "There we go," he said, reaching a small, brown bottle down from where it sat on an upper shelf. He unscrewed the cap and sniffed it, then handed it over. The bottle was empty, but the smell lingered.

"Same as the rag," Danny said. "You're thinking you like Solomon for this?"

Nick put the bottle in his pocket. "Maybe."

With a courier despatched to once more bring Amari back from Goodneighbour, they carried the unconscious Cricket on a makeshift stretcher down to the Diamond City Medical Centre where Nick unceremoniously evicted the two doctors there, Sun and Crocker. "Not meaning to be rude," he told them, "but she's had all the men touching her she can stand for one day. Plus, I wouldn't let you two operate on my neighbour's dog. And I don't like my neighbour's dog. Now get out."

Amari had come immediately, escorted by a pair of heavily-armed Goodneighbour city cops – hard looking men in long coats and slouch hats, automatic rifles cradled in their arms. She didn't introduce them and Nick didn't ask. Cricket's men were there, too, as well as Danny Sullivan. But except for Nick, Amari shooed everyone out of the operating theatre and closed the door.

-OOO-

"I've fixed the worst of her injuries," Amari said, putting her bag down. "The ones to her body, anyway. I had to use a pair of stimpacks from the stores here to help stop the internal bleeding. You'll probably have to pay for those, but it was that or watch her slowly bleed out. Plus I gave her a shot to try and clear some of the chems from her system." She flipped the blanket back to show the track marks, old and new, running all up and down the inside of her arms. "She has these everywhere there's a vein that would take a needle. It takes years of truly dedicated abuse to get this kind of result; it's a miracle she's still alive. One shot of addictol won't help much, but it's a start."

"How long before I can talk to her?"

"A couple more hours, at least, before she wakes up. Maybe not even then. Something you need to know, Nick – trauma can have unpredictable effects. Faced with the unbearable, the mind often takes steps to protect itself. You have to be prepared for the possibility that she may remember nothing at all about the attack."

"What can you tell me about that?"

Amari took a moment to gather her thoughts. "The beating she received occurred over a fairly long period," she said. "To judge by the way the blood has clotted, I'd say there were several distinct phases, with breaks in between. She was raped, a number of times. And there were… other injuries. Internal and external. It wasn't pretty. And before you ask, I can't give you an exact timeline, although just by the way the older injuries look, I might guess over a period of 24 hours or so. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking your timeline doesn't look good for Solomon," Nick said. "It puts the attack as starting the morning after the murder at the Dugout and lasting through until sometime early today, about when he said he was getting up. Coincidentally, he was away from his stall all day yesterday." A thought struck him. "Amari, you said that the girl who was murdered may have had sex just before she was killed. Could the same person be responsible?"

The doctor shook her head. "I don't see how. There was no sign of injury in that case. The opposite, in fact. This was… this was something altogether different."

"Huh." Nick took the empty chloroform bottle from of his pocket and unscrewed the lid. "I found this at the scene."

Amari sniffed at it and raised her eyebrows. "Chloroform," she said. "You think there's a connection between the two, then. But did you find this at the chem dealer's house? I shouldn't be too surprised. Any number of chems use chloroform."

"Yeah, except I found this on a shelf with a bunch of glassware instead of with the chemicals. Also, there's no label on the bottle."

"So?"

"You'd have to see Solomon's lab to understand. He was obsessive; a place for everything and everything in its place. A useful trait for someone in his business. You'd never grab the wrong stuff by mistake or run out of supplies accidentally."

"Not the kind of person who would put an unlabelled bottle on the wrong shelf, you mean."

"Exactly." Nick re-capped the bottle and put it back in his pocket. "Not even if he was in a hurry. And besides," he added, "there wasn't an empty spot for it with the rest of the chemicals. Which means someone brought it in and set it down there, and I'm guessing that someone is also our murderer from the other night. Which means I doubt Solomon's our guy. I'm not saying he wasn't there, but someone else had to have been running the show." He paused, thinking.

"What?" Amari said.

Nick chose his words carefully. "Look, leaving aside the chloroform, is there any chance this started out consensual?" he said. "Cricket has a… reputation, I guess you'd say. And all sorts of strange stuff goes on up at that house. Could something have just started out one way, say, then gotten out of hand?"

Amari shook her head. "She's only alive because you found her when you did. I can't imagine that whoever did this to her ever intended for her to survive it. Or if he did, he changed his mind very quickly." She closed her eyes and opened them again. "Nick, I found wood splinters inside of her. Who does that to another person?"

"A monster."

"No, that's not it. The Commonwealth is so full of monsters we barely even notice them. This was beyond monstrous." Words failed her and she just shook her head again. "I can't imagine what it must be like to carry that much hate around inside."

He touched her arm. " I'm sorry, Amari. I shouldn't have brought you into this."

She looked down at the woman on the gurney. "It's okay," she said. "But I'll expect payment for this trip.

"Of course. How much do I owe you?"

"Not that kind of payment." She covered Cricket up again then reached for her coat and scarf. "I want you to find who did this, Nick. And I want you to kill them. No matter who it is. For her sake and for the girl at the Dugout." She looked him in the eye. "Will you do that for me?"

Nick nodded. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I will."

-OOO-

The day's stock of surprises was not yet exhausted. Vadim Bobrov was in the waiting room when Nick came out. The hotelman was in a state of high agitation. "Nick Valentine!" he said, pulling at his sleeve. "Hurry. You must come. Right away."

"Easy there, Vadim," Nick said, shaking him off as the others looked on curiously. "What's going on?"

"It's the dead girl. She's gone."

Nick scowled. "Gone, how? Gone, as in, she woke up and decided to take a little stroll?"

"Gone as in, someone dug her up and took her."

Coming as it did on top of everything else, the news landed like a bombshell. "What the hell?" Nick said angrily, turning on him. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. We have a little space, in behind. No one goes there, it's just brush and garbage. You can't even see into it. Yefim, he felt bad about the girl, he decided today to clean it up a little. He gets back there, the grave is open and the girl is gone. So unless she dug herself out and walked away on her own pretty little feet, someone must have stolen her."

The bleak December afternoon had by then become evening. The snow was starting to fall in earnest, fat flakes drifting down out of the darkened sky. Casting worried glances skyward, Amari and her escort had left, finally, hurrying to make the long trip back to Goodneighbour. Only Nick and Danny remained, along with Cricket's caravan guards who had stationed themselves, one at the door to the surgery, the other at her bedside. They'd already ejected an angry Doc Crocker from his own waiting room.

"Clinic's closed," they told him. "Come back tomorrow."

"But it's my clinic!" he said, riled enough by then to ignore the threat of their levelled weapons. "Sullivan!" He pointed to the Diamond City cop. "You're the law here. Tell them they can't do this."

"Yes we can," they said, pushing the wildly protesting man out the door and closing it behind him. "Look," the older of the two, who seemed to be in charge, told Danny, "taking care of Cricket is our job. We messed up once. We ain't gonna let that happen again. So until we're sure she's safe, we're not leaving and no one's coming in except you or Valentine. Got it?"

Arriving at the Dugout, Vadim led them down the hallway past the rooms and out the door at the back where Yefim was waiting. It was as he had said: a small, sheltered courtyard sandwiched between the back of the Dugout and the wall separating it from an undeveloped section of the lower stands, illuminated now by work lights set up by the door. The space was full of junk, mostly: old pieces of leftover lumber and sheet metal, a pile of concrete blocks in one corner next to a stack of empty barrels, broken tools and bits of rusted metal poking out of the long grass and weeds growing through cracks in the pavement. A pair of thin, stunted trees grew next to the wall of the building, bitterly fighting for what little light managed to filter down through the stands above. In the middle was a cleared area where three graves stood close together, two old and overgrown, one brand new and open.

"Our parents," Vadim said, pointing to the older ones. "Mama, she never really recovered from losing Nadia. After she died, my father just gave up."

Danny walked over to where the fresh grave stood open and empty, a pile of dirt next to it. "Could it have been ferals?" he asked, looking down into it.

"Not unless they've started using shovels," Nick said from the other side of the courtyard, pulling the aforementioned tool out from where it had been stashed behind a stack of old boards. In the light from the work lamps he could see fresh dirt crusting the blade. He looked around. "I suppose they could have come over the wall there, then gone back the same way. It would be easy enough to climb over using these boards as steps." He turned to Vadim. "What did you bury her in?"

"An old piece of carpet we had," he answered. "We just rolled her up in it. It seemed the easiest way." He spread his hands. "Not so dignified as a regular coffin, but it's not like she was going to care one way or another. Still, we hurried too fast. We could have buried her deeper, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"Don't worry about it," Nick said, coming over to join Danny by the grave. "I doubt it would have made a difference. It's pretty isolated back here, easy enough to work without fear of getting caught. Whoever dug her up wanted her badly enough it wouldn't have mattered how deep she was."

Nick felt a moment of revulsion at the thought of the beautiful, pale-skinned girl, her features crushed by the weight of the dirt piled above her. He pushed it away. A burial was a lot more than most of humanity got since the Great War. Even now, the unburied dead outnumbered the living in the Commonwealth by a thousand to one, their bleached skulls grinning from amid the ruins of buildings and the rusted-out remains of vehicles, the places where death had caught them during the initial attack and in the madness that followed. Nor were all such remains ancient. Death came easy these days, and most of the time the only ones who cared were the crows and the ubiquitous packs of wild dogs.

Nick leaned on his shovel and thought for a moment. His roster of crimes was growing. Unfortunately, his list of viable suspects hadn't improved any. There was nothing in the courtyard to identify the grave-robber or suggest a motive, and he mentally ticked off his list of suspects. First was the boy, Jeremy of course, although the more he thought about it the more he leaned away from that idea. Still, the line between love and hate can be very thin and Nick wasn't ready to let him off for the murder without more evidence. Then there was Solomon. Chems could do funny things to a man's wiring no matter how careful he was, and by his own admission, Solomon had been completely blacked out during the time of Cricket's assault. Even if it wasn't him, he'd been in the house while it was happening. Finally, he had to include the mysterious Courser and the strangely long-lived Lenny Breckenridge even though there was nothing connecting them to any of it except Nick's innate distrust of coincidence. Add to that the equally likely prospect that it was some party as yet unknown and he'd succeeded in narrowing his list of suspects down to the entire Commonwealth with the possible exception of himself.

It was motive that was lacking. A crime requires means, motive and opportunity, and while the means and the opportunity were clear in all three cases, and the evidence suggested they were all related, the motive – the common thread that would tie them into a single narrative – was still obscure. Once he knew who benefited and why, the rest would fall into place. Until then he'd just have to keep doing what he was doing, which at the moment consisted of little more than flailing around helplessly.

"Nick?" Sullivan's voice shook him out of his reverie. Another Diamond City cop had shown up and was standing behind him. "It's your boy Jeremy," Danny said. "We've got him at the station."

-OOO-

As Nick had suspected, it was Jeremy sheltering in the unused plant nursery. "Too easy, really," the new cop laughed as they hurried back to the police station. "He come waltzing down the street a little after dark, pulls out a key and unlocked the door bold as brass. I just flipped down and gave him a little pop, took the starch right out of him. I slapped the cuffs on him and brought him in."

"Nice work," Nick said. "He cause you any trouble after that?"

"Not a sniff. Like he wanted to get caught. We put him in cells next to the other guy, all he asked for was something to eat."

The evening shift was just coming on by the time they got to the station house, and they walked into a hubbub of noise and conversation, the slamming of lockers and scrape of chairs and benches as men suited up for their shift or changed back into their civvies. The noise level dropped slightly when they walked in, and there were greetings and the odd dark look thrown their way. From across the room, the desk sergeant, a corpulent, badly-shaven, grey-haired man with the tag end of a cigar clamped permanently between his teeth, waved them over.

"Danny Sullivan and his pet detective," he said warmly. "Danny, why is it I never see you out of uniform?"

"Guess I'm just married to it, Sarge," Danny grinned. "Maybe I'm gunning for a desk job like yours."

The old sergeant laughed. "You don't want it, kid. It's a life sentence. Speaking of which, I have two prisoners here for you, which I hope you will take with you when you leave, on account of it is Saturday night and I expect to be busy later on."

"That's why we're here, Sarge. C'mon, Nick. Let's see what we've got."

The holding cell was simply a large, metal cage built into a corner of the ready room with a row of narrow, wooden benches bolted along three sides and a door in the fourth. The boy sat slumped on a bench in the far corner, head in his hands. He didn't look up when they came in. Solomon was in the middle of the cell, pacing and muttering to himself. His visor and one shoe were missing but otherwise he didn't seem to have been maltreated. But he was sweating hard and his skin was pale. His eyes were wild and panicked-looking, the muscles of his face twitching and jumping uncontrollably, and he smelled of vomit. He turned when he saw them and relief flooded into his face.

"Valentine, man." He came to the door of the cage and reached through the bars. "You gotta help me, dude. What the hell's going on? No one here will tell me anything."

Nick was careful to stay out of reach. "Solomon," he greeted the chem dealer. "You don't look so well."

"I'm sick, man," Solomon said, his teeth chattering. "Real sick. I ache all over and I can't stop shaking." A tremor passed through his body just then, as if to prove his point. "I need to get back to my place. I got some stuff that'll fix this right up."

"I'm sure you do," Nick said agreeably. "But I've got a few questions for you first. You help me out, maybe I can help you out."

"Sure, man, anything. Just hurry. I can't stay here much longer."

Nick pulled out his notebook and a pencil. "Tell me about Cricket," he said.

Solomon looked at him in surprise. "Cricket?" he repeated. "The trader? What about her?"

"When did you see her last?"

"How would I know?" He groaned miserably as another tremor passed through him. "She usually just sends one of her boys over to pick up her order. Other than that, we don't really run with the same crowd, you know what I mean? She's a bit too weird for me. " He paused and frowned.

"What?"

He shook his head. "No, man. I don't know. I told you before, yesterday's a total blank. What's this all about? Do you think she has something to do with what was up at the house?"

"Solomon, she was what was up at the house."

Solomon grabbed the bars and shook them in exasperation. "Man, what the hell are you talking about? Stop talking riddles and tell me what's going on so I can get the hell outta here."

Nick explained while Solomon listened, a look of growing horror on his face.

"My lab?" he wailed when the detective finished. "Someone messed with my lab? What the fuck, man? It's locked up tight. I never let anyone back there. That's my sanctum sanctorum. It's totally off-limits to anyone but me." His eyes widened as the realization struck him. "You think it was me," he whispered. "You think it was me done that to her."

Nick nodded. "So far as we know, you're the only one who was in the house. And like you say, you're the only one who has access to the lab."

Solomon moaned, burying his face in his hands. "No way, man. No way, no way, no way. Not even at my craziest. I mean … lots of weird stuff goes down up there, okay? You saw the mural. That ain't the half of it. But it's all consenting, I make sure of that. I mean, so, yeah… you wouldn't believe some of the shit people will consent to, right? But not what you're describing. And even if they did, not at my place, man. Not ever."

A huge shiver went through him and he wrapped his arms around his body and leaned against the bars of the cage for support. "Oh man," he said. "This is totally not good." He slumped slowly to the floor, curling up into a small, whimpering ball. "You gotta believe me, Nick," he said in a small voice. "I don't know how she got there."

"Withdrawal," Danny said. "He's been here a good six hours. Probably way past time for his next fix. What are we going to do? We can't leave him like this."

"I agree." Nick prodded Solomon through the bars with his foot. "Look, Solomon, maybe I can go up to your place and bring you something. What do you need?" Solomon just moaned and curled himself into a tighter ball. Nick prodded him again. "C'mon, brother. Work with me, here. Do you want out of this cage or not?"

"Third shelf on the far side," Solomon finally replied, his voice issuing weakly from somewhere within the knot of misery on the floor "Fifth from the left on the front row. The label says 'Gummy Bears', but don't eat any. And don't touch them without gloves."

"I'll go," said Danny.

Solomon dry-retched, his body heaving. "Please hurry back, before I shit myself again."

-OOO-

Nick watched Danny leave. "You got anywhere quiet where I can interview the kid?" he asked the desk sargeant, jerking his thumb toward the boy in the cage.

"Sure do," the sargeant replied, "Reilly," he waved another cop over. "Take the detective here to the interrogation room and then bring him the kid. He turned back to Nick. "You want him cuffed?" he asked dubiously. "He don't look like much of a threat to me."

"No, we're good."

Nick followed Reilly back to the interrogation room: a bare, cell with whitewashed walls, brightly lit by a barred fixture set into the ceiling. The single door opened outwards and was secured by a heavy bar on the outside. There were a pair of small ventilation grilles in the roof that Nick suspected doubled as gunports, and the floor sloped toward a drain set in the middle. A heavy table stood in the middle of the room with metal chairs on either side, one with thick rings welded to the front legs and armrests. Not a room he'd like to find himself in, if he was on the wrong side of the table, Nick thought, watching as the boy was led in and sat down.

"Just call when you want out," the cop said. Nick nodded, then waited until he was gone, the heavy door thudding closed behind him and the bar sliding into place with a muffled thunk. He turned his attention to the boy across the table from him.

He sat slumped in the chair, his eyes downcast and his shoulders hunched forward, his hands palms down on the table in front of him. Nick watched him in silence, letting the tension build slightly. He was on the tall side - just over six feet, Nick thought, but his slenderness would make him seem taller to an observer. Olive-skinned and fine-featured, with tall cheekbones and thin lips, a thick shock of black hair drawn into a long pony tail at the back, and huge, dark, long-lashed eyes. "Pretty," Vadim had called him, and he certainly was that. And dirty. His fingernails were caked with grime and the skin on his knuckles was scabbed over from some mishap.

Nick reached out and flipped the boy's hands over, one a time. The boy flinched at the touch but otherwise didn't react. The fingers were long and nimble-looking; hands for making or fixing, as Vadim had said. Like the girl, they were hands that had never spent time at the wrong end of a shovel or grubbing for salvage in the ruins. City-boy hands, his grandfather had called them in that long-ago time when Nick was a boy spending summers out at the farm. Today, even city boys didn't have hands like that.

"You're from the Institute," Nick said into the silence. The boy lifted one shoulder in a listless shrug, staring down at the table, his dark hair falling down in front to frame his face.

Nick waited. "Jeremy, isn't it?" he said, finally. No response. He tried again: "Blake Abernathy sends his regards."

That bought a reaction. "Wha-?" the boy goggled at him.

"Blake Abernathy," Nick repeated. "He came to visit me. He was worried about you."

"Why would he come to you?"

"I guess you could call me a private investigator," Nick said. "People come to me when they have problems." He took out a cigarette and waved it at Jeremy, who declined. "Suit yourself," he said, lighting up and taking a drag. Blowing out a stream of smoke, he regarded him in silence. Then: "You're in a pile of trouble, son."

Jeremy stared at him. "You're a synth," he said, sullenly. "Some kind of old-school Gen-2. But you don't look or talk like any Gen-2 I've ever met. What are you, really?"

The chair legs scraped as Nick leaned forward suddenly to stare into Jeremy's face. The motors behind his eyes whirred quietly in the stillness. "What I am, boy, is the only chance you have of getting out of this alive. So do yourself a favour and start talking. And don't leave anything out; I'll know if you do."

The boy sighed resignedly. "What do you want me to talk about?"

Nick leaned back and took another drag. He smiled. "Why don't you start at the beginning."

-OOO-


	9. Two Hearts

It was Eva's idea, of course (Jeremy began). It's always Eva's idea. Most of our best adventures started with her saying "Hey – wouldn't it be cool if we…?" She had some stinkers, too, but that didn't matter. Bad or good, I never could say no to her. And now she's dead and it's my fault. If there was ever a time I needed to say no, that was it. But I didn't.

Growing up in the Institute is… weird. I mean, to us it's just normal. But anyone from Outside would think they'd been transported to an alien planet. And maybe it was. Do you know about ants? Of course you do. But I don't. I never saw an ant in my life until our first night Outside. I found out the hard way what "sleeping on an anthill" means. And dirt. I've got more dirt on me now than I've ever had in my whole life. Cold, hunger, fear…. How do people on the Outside stand it? I keep hoping it's just a bad dream that I'll eventually wake up from. But no, it turns out this is what reality looks like. Well, you can keep it.

You have to understand - the Institute is small. Can you imagine what it's like to live your whole life in the same little building, with the same few hundred people all crammed together in the same tiny apartments, living lives exactly like everyone else's? Never able to get out or go away, or meet anyone new or see anything different? Eating the exact same food, at the same table with the same people, every day, doing the same things, day after dreary, endless day, until you finally die? And the rules. Endless rules for when to get up and when to go to bed, where you can go and what you can say, how you should think. That's the Institute: a place where your whole life is decided for you from the minute you're born until the day they feed you to the composter.

It's different for the kids. Children get lots of leeway. Except for school, of course, which is deadly serious business. But outside of that, we were on our own most of the time. And why not? The Institute is safe. There isn't any trouble to get into as long as you stay out of the restricted areas, and there are synths everywhere who would gladly sacrifice their lives for you. They can't help it. They're programmed that way.

But after Graduation, when they hand you your assignment papers, everything changes. From that moment you're an adult: another wheel in the machine, endlessly working to save Humanity. I don't think you people understand that part. The Institute's goal is nothing less than to rescue the human race from the barbarism it has sunk into since the War. For generations, we've devoted our lives, our treasure and our sacred honour to this one purpose. It's overwhelming, really. The work never ends. Even with the Gen-2's to handle most of the drudgery, there's never enough hands for all the jobs that have to be done. So people do what they're told, day after day, year after year, for the greater good of all.

The sad thing is, I'm pretty sure now that none of you really want saving. At least, not on the Institute's terms.

Once I saw a Gen-2 run amok. He was watering flowers on one of the mezzanine levels overlooking the central atrium. Eva and I were flicking little bits of pencil eraser over the railing at people below us. I don't know why. Just to add some variety to their days, I guess. Plus watching their confusion. They'd keep looking around, trying to figure out what was happening. Never once did anyone look up at us leaning over the railing. We were fairly high up, sure, but it's not like we were hiding or anything. It's just that nobody ever looked up.

Anyway – there was this synth, minding his own business, just watering a row of potted plants a little farther down from us. He didn't say anything like "You kids stop that!" or anything. It wasn't his job. But he stopped what he was doing to watch. Eva had just scored a direct hit on Director Ayo, from the Synth Retention Bureau, and boy was he mad. There was a technician sitting on a bench a little ways away from him and he thought she'd done it, I guess. It was hard to make out words from where we were, but he was sure yelling up a storm at her. Eva and I were laughing and high-fiving each other and generally enjoying the show, when out of the corner of my eye I saw the Gen-2 pick up the plant he'd just watered – a geranium, I think – and heave it over the edge. It all happened so fast, I didn't have time to stop him or shout a warning or do anything but just watch. Maybe I was in shock. I did try to say something, but I think it just came out like "Ga! Ga!" or something like that.

Thankfully it didn't hit anyone, just smashed on the floor. I can still see it – dirt and bits of geranium flying everywhere, pieces of broken pottery skittering across the floor. Everyone in the atrium stopped what they were doing and just looked at it, stunned, like. Then the Gen-2 threw another, and people finally looked up, and in a minute everyone was pointing and yelling and running for cover. It was total mayhem. Eva and I ducked behind a wall and just stared at him while he kept picking up plants and throwing them over the edge. I don't think he was actually aiming at anyone, just throwing them out to watch them fall. I bet he chucked a dozen pots over before the Coursers finally shot him.

We bolted out of there before anyone saw us. Lots of times I think about that synth. I wonder if it was the unending, soul-destroying dreariness of life at the Institute that finally did him in. After that, when things got really bad, we'd joke that today was the day we were going to start tossing plants.

Funny thing is, nobody ever talked about it. You'd think a synth going crazy would have been the talk of the town for weeks, but there was nothing. A couple Gen-2s came out and cleaned up the mess and then it was like it never happened. Something else, though: I never saw that tech again, the one the Director thought threw something at him. I went looking for her to apologize for getting her in trouble. But I couldn't find her and no one admitted to remembering her. After that, Eva and I kept our mouths shut, too.

I suppose to the average person in the Commonwealth, the Institute would be like Paradise. No hunger or disease, no mutated monsters roaming the countryside, no radiation sickness. Clean water at the turn of a handle and a warm, soft bed to sleep in every night without ever having to worry about if some ghoul was going to come eat you in your sleep. But it all came at a price. And the strange thing is, I don't think people there even understand how high that price is.

Eva dreaded Graduation, and the closer it got, the more frantic she got about it. Me, too, I guess, but with Eva it was an obsession. Most of the kids our age could hardly wait to be done school, find out where they were going and get started on their lives. Not like there was a lot of mystery. By the time you hit senior year, you pretty much knew where everyone was going to be assigned already. All except Eva and me. We were a mystery. We never did find out what we were going to be when we grew up.

Maybe that's why we always stuck together. I mean, the kids tended to travel in packs anyway, but right from the beginning we were our own little sub-unit. Eva said once she felt like we were a couple of square pegs rattling around in a box filled with round holes. It wasn't a romantic thing! We kissed once, when we were twelve. She'd caught a couple of the older kids groping in a corner – there's a lot of that goes on once you hit a certain age – and being Eva, she naturally had to find out what the fuss was about. It was… awkward. But nice. I liked it, anyway, but she said it felt like kissing her brother. Which I pointed out she didn't have, so how would she know? But that didn't matter. Once she'd made up her mind about something, that was it. Even so, she was never interested in any of the others that way. For that matter, neither was I. They just weren't Eva.

When we were sixteen, Eva invented the Game. Really it was just an excuse to explore. Everyone knew there were hidden parts of the Institute – places that were off-limits, doors that were locked, that sort of thing. But we'd all heard stories about secret tunnels and places that had been abandoned in the years since the War. So we went hunting them. At first some of the others tagged along, but they dropped out pretty quickly once things got serious. For Eva, a locked door wasn't a warning, it was a challenge. Pretty soon it was just the two of us, and by then what we were really looking for was a way to the surface. To the Outside.

It's not like it was a complete unknown to us. There was lots in the public terminals as well as what we learned in school, and there was regular traffic between the Institute and the surface, although that was usually synths out on scavenging expeditions. But Eva dismissed most of what we learned as propaganda deliberately designed to keep us happy where we were. "They're hiding something, Jeremy," she'd say. "People live there, don't they? We know that for a fact. It can't all be brain-eating mutants and radioactive wastelands. Anyway, it doesn't matter what they say. We're going to find out for ourselves. You and me."

By then, we were keeping our travels a secret. Eva was always worried that if the other kids found out what we were doing, someone would blab. But honestly, none of them seemed to care. Probably if they thought about it at all, they just figured we'd found a really good make-out spot and were spending all our off hours doing the dirty. Everybody assumed we were a couple, and we never said anything to correct them. Once our cohort got old enough, there was lots of pairing off, and the pairings were always changing. It was your only chance, really, before they told you who you were going to marry and what children you'd have. Eva wasn't interested in any of that, of course, and having me as her "boyfriend" meant the others left her alone. For me, I just liked the idea of it. We used to joke, Eva and I, that if we found the perfect spot, we'd take up that kiss where we'd left off, back when we were twelve. I think I lived for that.

We got to know the Institute inside and out, including lots of places that were totally restricted. It's amazing how stupid people are when it comes to picking passwords. And as it turned out, most of those stories we'd heard were true. There _were_ secret tunnels and hidden ways that people didn't know about. Or at any rate, the people who didn't know about them didn't know about them. Does that make sense? I suppose the people who used them didn't find them particularly secret, but for us, stumbling on something hidden like that was like finding buried treasure. Even better were the abandoned areas, places no one had visited in decades. Lifetimes, maybe. It was pretty exciting stuff.

The last couple weeks, everything changed. We were Seniors, you understand? Time was ticking for us. Classes were finally over and there was a bit of a break, then Graduation. After that, there'd be no more exploring, no more games, no more freedom. They'd force us into those round holes whether we fit or not, and in the end we'd be just like everyone else. The worse part for me was the chance that they'd split us up. I wasn't sure I could live with that. But what could I do? By then, I was sure there was no back door out of the Institute anyway. I'm not sure I ever believed it, although I never told Eva any of that. And even if there was, I never thought we'd do anything more than stick our noses out then turn around and go home.

But as the day got closer, Eva got more and more desperate, like a drowning person flailing around trying to keep from going under. I think she would have thrown herself off one of the upper levels rather than let herself be Assigned. You could see it in her eyes. She was haunted by the idea of being forced into the mould they'd chosen for her, whatever that was, and our explorations got more and more frantic. She was constantly going through our old maps, and we started retracing our steps looking for something we'd missed.

Then one day we found the old Vault. And everything changed.

-OOO-

They'd probably been down that service corridor a dozen times without ever seeing the floor hatch. But it had opened easily enough and the ladder leading down from it was solid. Jeremy went first anyway, testing each rung before trusting his weight to it. The shaft opened out into a maintenance tunnel with a trio of steam pipes running along one wall, part of the old heating system for this section. They'd come across tunnels like these before. Mostly they just dead-ended or circled back on themselves. But this one seemed to go on forever.

They stuck to the main corridor, lighting their way with the big industrial-sized flashlight Jeremy carried. Eva kept hers off, to save batteries. Narrow side passages opened off at intervals, running back into the darkness beyond the reach of the flashlight beam. There would be time later to come back and map them out. For now, they just wanted to see where it all ended up. Finally, after a considerable jog full of confusing twists and turns, they found themselves in some kind of maintenance and control room, still in good shape but clearly long since powered-down and abandoned. A huge control console dominated one wall, and in the bottom corner of the computer screen, a single, lonely cursor blinked endlessly on-off, on-off, as it had for who knows how many years since people had last used this room.

"Can you get in?" Eva asked excitedly.

"Won't know until I try," Jeremy answered. "Let's look around first." But there wasn't much to see. A desk and a pair of filing cabinets, a scattering of paper on the floor where a file folder had been dropped and left behind. There was a half-empty bottle of whiskey tucked into the back of one of cabinets alongside a carton of cigarettes. Otherwise the room was stripped bare.

Jeremy handed Eva his light and went to work on the computer screen. A tap of the keys brought up a prompt for a password. On a hunch, he lifted the keyboard out of its tray to see the word "password" scrawled beneath it. He keyed it in, and with a hum, the screen flickered to life with a series of prompts. It was mostly disappointing: a bunch of corrupted data files, an extensive and rather awkward email flirtation between two people who had been dead for at least a century and probably should have known better anyhow, and, at the bottom, something promising: "Open Auxiliary Door".

Jeremy paused with this hands over the keyboard. "Should I?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?" Eva said. "Of course you should. Do it."

"Eva. I don't know."

"Oh for God's sake, Jeremy, don't be such a baby." She pushed him aside, handing him the flashlight. She grinned at him to take the sting out of her words. "This might be our big strike, " she said, bending over the terminal and tucking an errant strand of her long, black hair behind her ear. Her lips were parted and her eyes wide, and her breath came quickly. Jeremy felt her excitement, but anxiety also gnawed at him.

"Maybe we need to be better prepared," he said. "We could go and gear up a bit, then come back later. This place isn't going anywhere. You press that and anything could happen."

"Jeremy, if we don't do this now, we might never have another chance. Come on. We agreed, remember? Are you with me or not?"

He licked his lips, then nodded, reluctantly. Eva flashed him another grin, her face pale in the harsh light of the flash, then stabbed down. There was a pause and nothing happened. Jeremy felt a sudden, short-lived surge of relief. Then, with a hiss, what they'd thought was a wall panel slid open beside them, revealing a metal staircase leading upward into darkness.

Eva squealed with excitement before clapping her hands over her mouth. They stared at each other for a long moment. Then, without another word, they started upwards.

They went as carefully and quietly as possible, the only sound the muted ringing of the metal stairs beneath their feet. Light fixtures poked out of the wall at intervals, but they were dark and there was no obvious switch. Eva had her flashlight out also, but they kept the beams pointed low to illuminate the steps ahead of them without revealing themselves to anyone who might be lurking above. It didn't seem likely to Jeremy that there was anyone up there. A thin layer of dust coated everything. Shining his light back the way they came, Jeremy could easily make out their tracks. They'd be easy to follow if anyone came after them. But otherwise, it was clear no one had come this way in a very long while.

"Where do you think this goes?" Eva asked from behind him.

"I think it must come out in BioScience somewhere, " Jeremy answered over his shoulder. "I got turned around a bit back there in the steam tunnels, but I think that's right." They were both whispering, and their words fell flat in the dry, motionless air.

Eva giggled, then stifled it. "Won't they be surprised to see us?"

"Won't they? I don't want to get caught up there." Inwardly, he was worried. It wasn't like anything really bad was going to happen to them, but they'd been warned a couple of times about being in places they weren't supposed to, and he didn't like to think what his father would say if the Coursers brought them home again. Then he remembered the tech, the one who'd disappeared, and he shivered.

As it turned out, he was wrong about where they were. The stairwell just kept going up and up, stair after stair, landing after landing. They'd been climbing for hours, it felt like, although a look at his watch told Jeremy it was more like 40 minutes. He was getting tired, his legs rubbery and weak. Behind him, he could hear Eva's breath coming in long, panting gasps.

"Do you want to take a break?" he said, stopping with his hand on the railing.

"No," she answered. "We have to be almost there by now. Wherever 'there' is. I'm hungry, though. Do you have anything left to eat?"

"Not a bite," he said. He'd packed a lunch before they set out, but they'd finished it back in the steam tunnels, hours ago, it felt like.

"That's alright. We've come too far to stop now. Let's push on."

So they pushed on. They really had gone too far to turn back anyway. By now, they had climbed much higher than the main levels, where Bioscience was. If this did open back into the Institute, it would have to be somewhere up near the transporter chamber, at the very top of the Institute, high above the residential floors. There were doors up there they'd never been able to get through; probably it was one of those. Jeremy breathed a little sigh of relief. There was almost never anyone else up there and it was an easy return trip via the elevator that led down into the main atrium.

Finally, the staircase opened onto a landing that was slightly bigger than the others, and stopped. A single bulb on the far wall cast a pool of light around a heavy-looking metal door with a security terminal beside it. The sign on the door said: "Vault 54".

Eva raised her eyebrows at him. "What's a Vault doing here?" she whispered.

"How should I know?" They both knew about the Vaults, at least in a general way: underground bunkers much like the Institute, built just before the War to protect people in case one side or the other started lobbing missiles. But neither of them had ever heard of a vault attached to the Institute.

There was no latch on this side and Eva reached up to switch on the security terminal. Jeremy grabbed her hand. "Stop that!" he hissed, pulling her back. "What are you doing?"

"Opening the door, silly," she whispered back. "What did you think? Would you rather I knocked, instead?"

"I'd rather we turned around and went home," he said. "I don't want to go into any Vault. You don't know what could be behind there. "

"Of course I know what's behind there. It's what we've been looking for all this time." She looked at him strangely, her eyes shining. "It's what we always dreamed about. A way Outside, out of the stupid Institute and all its stupid rules. Our freedom. Isn't that what you want?"

"No." Jeremy shook his head. "I don't mean I don't want that. I mean… it could just be another dead end, like everywhere else we've looked." He shook his head again. "Eva, come on. The Vaults were crazy places. They experimented on people or made them do crazy shit to each other. We don't have any idea what we're going to find in there."

She shook him off. "Those are just stories people tell to scare each other, Jeremy. I don't believe them and neither do you. No one in their right minds would ever behave like that. And anyway – all the Vaults are empty now. Everyone has gone back up to the surface, haven't they? It will be like those old control rooms down below. Come on, Jer," she pleaded. "This is what we've been waiting for. Don't chicken out on me now." She touched his hand. "Please?"

Jeremy sighed, fidgeting. She was right, of course. She always was. He just couldn't shake the feeling that they were standing on a threshold that was figurative as well as literal. It was all fine to complain about the mind-numbing boredom of day-to-day life in the Institute, or to chafe at the endless rules and restrictions. All the kids talked that way to one degree or another once they learned more about how their world worked. A certain amount of rebellion was expected, even encouraged. But now, here they were. Jeremy had no illusions about where this was leading. The Vaults connected to the Outside, everyone knew that, and once they found the way out, no force in the world would stop Eva from stepping through. And where she went, he would follow. In this moment, standing together at the top of the stairs, their children's game had become terribly real.

In his mind, Jeremy bade farewell to the Institute and to everything he knew there, realizing as he did so that against all expectation, despite all its pretensions and its shortcomings, he loved it. He looked down at Eva and their eyes locked.

"Here, let me have a look," he finally said, brushing past her. He powered up the security terminal and went to work. There was no handy password scrawled under the keyboard this time (he checked) but there was a pattern to these things once you knew what you were looking for, and it took him only a few minutes to deduce the code: "MAMA".

He stepped away from the terminal. "Do you want the honours?" he asked. Eva shivered with excitement and squeezed his hand tightly, then pulled him to her and kissed him suddenly, and in that brief instant he tasted cherries and dark chocolate, with somewhere behind them the hint of a promise. His heart sang as she turned back to the door. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and pushed the "Send" key. The terminal chattered to itself briefly, then with a clank and a sigh, the door swung inward.

-OOO-


	10. One Heart

Jeremy looked up tiredly. "Look, can I get a drink of water?"

"Sure." Nick put his notebook in his pocket and went over and banged on the door. A tiny observation hatch slid aside and a pair of eyes looked through.

"Yeah?"

"Little water here for my young friend, if you don't mind."

The hatch closed, then opened again a minute later. "Stand back where I can see you," the voice said. Nick moved away and the door swung open, revealing a burly, bald-headed cop with an open can of purified water in his hand. "Sullivan's back," he said, handing over the water. "Your chem-head pal got his stuff and now he's sleeping like a baby. You want I should bring him here?"

"No, let him sleep. We've got a while in here yet." Nick went to turn away, but the cop was still standing there expectantly. Nick frowned. "What is it?"

"You owe for the water, Valentine. Twenty caps."

"Yeah? Send the bill to the Mayor's office. Now beat it, I'm busy."

Jeremy drank the water thirstily then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Is this the kind of thing you want to hear?"

"Yup." Nick opened his notebook to a new page. "You keep talking, kid, and I'll keep listening."

-OOO-

Eva was right about one thing. Vault 54 was abandoned. But not in the way she thought.

The door opened into the Overseer's office. That's what it said on the sign outside, anyway. There was a big, circular workstation in the middle with a computer terminal on it and a table along one wall with some chairs and a couple of filing cabinets. Except for a thin layer of dust, everything was neat and tidy, like whoever had been there had cleaned up before they left. It even smelled empty.

The far wall was mostly window, like a viewing gallery. The room we were in looked out over a long, rectangular atrium with a mezzanine running around it on three sides. There were lights at each end, so while you couldn't see much, it wasn't completely dark. The abandoned areas we'd been exploring were mostly like that – just enough light to see where you were going but not enough to make out any detail. And lots of deep shadows where anything could be hiding.

Eva came up beside me and we watched for a while. It was the first time we'd ever seen a place that wasn't the Institute.

Below us, the atrium was empty except for a few tables with benches around them and what looked like vending machines or kiosks up against the walls. Turned out they weren't either of those, but I'll get to that. There was a row of doors down there on each side, all closed, with more at the far end including a set of double doors in the middle. There were doors off the mezzanine level, too, and a series of large, square panels, about six feet on a side set into the floor at regular intervals.

The most important thing is, there wasn't anything moving out there.

We dared not show a light anyway, just in case, but there was enough coming in through the window for us to go through the drawers and the filing cabinets. It felt sort of funny poking through someone else's stuff like that and I had to remind myself we weren't actually planning to steal anything, just find out where we were. It didn't matter anyway, they were all empty. I also tried to hack the computer terminal. There was power to it, but it was password protected and I couldn't get past the log-in screen.

When I looked out the window again, there was still no sign of life out there. It was time to move out.

-OOO-

"Stay back," Jeremy cautioned, motioning for Eva to keep behind him as he eased the door open. She ignored him, crowding up to peer under his arm. Seeing nothing, they stepped nervously out, moving cautiously and staying in the deepest shadows. As they approached the first of the strange floor panels, Jeremy realized it was a metal grill set into a large opening in the floor. He crouched down, trying not to make any noise.

"Some kind of ventilation system?" Eva whispered, bending over him.

"Maybe." He squinted down into the space below. It was completely dark. "Should we shine a light down there?"

"What, and wake up the monsters? Better not."

He grinned up at her. "Let's just keep moving, then. I imagine well find our way down there eventually."

He stood up and glanced over the railing into the atrium, then froze. "Eva, don't move," he hissed.

She stood stock still. "What is it?"

"Those things down there," he whispered. "They're old pre-War Protectrons. Security robots."

Eva turned her head slowly and looked down. From here it was clear what they were. There were five of them, two on each side and one at the end below the Overseer's office, all standing motionless in their domed charging pods. Mesmerized, barely breathing, they watched.

"Let's go back now," Jeremy finally said, his lips against Eva's ear. "Please let's go back. We're hardly any distance from the door. They didn't react to us before. Maybe if we're careful they won't notice us now."

She gripped his arm. "They might not even be turned on," she whispered back. "We could be running from nothing."

"That's what they're supposed to do. They just wait, and then when you trip their circuits, they come out and kill you. I don't want to die today."

"I don't think they do, necessarily," she said.

"Do what?"

"Kill you. I think lots of them just have electric shock wands, to stun people."

"That's not reassuring."

"Still safer than getting shot by a laser."

"This is crazy dangerous, you know."

"Well, what did you expect it? Let's just explore a bit farther," she said, urgently. "Please? And if we see those things start to move, we'll turn around and get out of here, fast as we can. Okay?"

He nodded. "Okay."

Slowly, without making any sudden motions, they edged away from the railing and into the shadows by the wall. The Protectrons remained steadfastly unmoving. Reaching the first door on this side, they slipped into the room beyond. It was a lunch room or recreation centre, with two long tables down the middle and benches on each side, and a counter along one wall with what looked like a kitchen in behind, not much different from the cafeterias at the Institute. A pair of pool tables, the balls racked as if waiting for the next game, took up one end, and there were dart boards on one wall and a television in the corner with some couches grouped around it.

The room next to that was a standard hydroponics set-up, with rows and rows of tables and the faint smell of earth and growing things. But the plant trays were all empty and the shelves were bare. Nothing had grown there in a very long time. On the other side of the atrium was another hydroponics lab and a maintenance room with workbenches and supplies, and tools hung neatly on the wall. Here, as everywhere, the only signs of life were their own footprints in the thick dust on the floor.

Jeremy picked out a heavy, long-handled hammer. He swung it a couple of times, getting a feel for the weight.

"I don't think that will help us against those robots," Eva whispered.

"Yeah, but it makes me feel better," he whispered back.

"Good thinking." She picked out a short length of steel bar for herself, and a small, thin-bladed knife in a sheathe that clipped nicely onto her belt. Their courage bolstered, they carried on.

A stairway led down. The door at the bottom was heavy and barred on this side, but the bar slid back easily and Jeremy eased the door open a crack, peering out into the darkened atrium.

Eva pushed at him from behind. "What are we waiting for?"

"What if this sets the Protectrons off?" Jeremy whispered over his shoulder. There was nothing moving out there and the robots in their pods loomed large and shapeless in the darkness.

"Same as before," she answered. " We just poke our noses out and wait, and if they move, we can still run away. I promise, Jeremy. If they so much as twitch, we'll run for home and not stop until we get there."

He drew a deep breath. "I'll go first and see what happens, " he said. "You stay here."

Holding his breath, he took a careful step out of the doorway, then stopped and waited. Nothing happened, so he took another. Then another. He didn't know whether he was relieved or annoyed to realize Eva had come out with him, but he took a better grip on his hammer with one hand and reached back with the other. She took it in hers, and together they edged along the wall toward the closest Protectron.

The robots in the atrium neither twitched nor moved. Jeremy could feel his heart pounding, and the sound of his own breathing was deafening. The open door behind them was just a darker shadow in the gloom, impossibly far away. But nothing happened. No lights flashed into brightness, no sirens howled, no robots woke to life. And then they were there.

"Maybe they're shut down," he whispered. There was a status panel in the base which he bent down to examine, but the lights were all dark. Greatly daring, he rapped on the clear plastic face of the pod. There was no reaction.

He sighed with relief, wiping his sweat-soaked hands on his jumpsuit. Eva punched him lightly.

"See," she said. "I told you we were safe."

There was a row of small doors running down each side of the atrium and they tried the first one. It was thick and solid, made of metal and securely locked, with a small, barred opening near the top. He poked his light through the bars and swept it around the room. There were two narrow beds, one at each end, with a low metal toilet between them and a washbasin built into the wall next to it. The floor sloped slightly to a drain in the centre, while a set of darkened strip lights ran the length of the ceiling on either side of the grille. Otherwise, it was completely bare, and except for the ubiquitous layer of dust, clean.

"This must be some kind of detention level," Jeremy said.

"What's that there?" Eva said, suddenly.

"Where?"

"There." She pointed at the nearest bed and he moved his light over to it. The frame was sturdily made of metal, the mattress merely a thin pad, and welded to each end, head and foot, were padded shackles on the ends of short, heavy chains.

"What did they do here?" Eva said in a hollow voice. "What kind of prison is it where you have to not only lock people up, but tie them down, too? Was it for punishment? Or was this how they lived, tied down in here every night?"

Jeremy shook his head. "Eva – if half the stories are true, the Vaults were terrible places. And it's going to be just as bad Outside." He grabbed her by the shoulders. "I know you're unhappy at home, but at least no one gets locked in their room and tied to a bed there. And it's not like we can't come back. This place will always be here. We can plan and prepare, and then if we decide we can't stand it, we can just pick up and go."

"Do you really think it's that easy?" she said. "Once we graduate, we'll have our jobs to do. They'll make us get married. And not to each other – I heard my parents talking about it. And then what? Do you really think they'll let us go wandering off by ourselves?" She squirmed out of his grasp. "I'm not saying you're wrong," she said. "But I'm not going back without at least seeing for myself. I'll understand if you don't want to come. But there's a door around here somewhere that leads up to the surface. And that's where I'm going."

Jeremy sighed. "You know I could never let you go alone." And it was true. Once Eva's mind was made up, most people simply found it easier to follow or get out of the way, and he had been following her for too long to stop now. "C'mon," he said, "let's have a look at the rest of this place."

They checked the rest of the cells, just in case, but they were all the same. A set of double doors at the end of the atrium opposite the Overseer's office led into a wide hallway. There was a pair of swinging doors on each side about halfway down, and at the end it opened out into an antechamber with another set of swinging doors on the far wall, flanked by a pair of long windows looking into the room beyond.

"Medical facility," said Jeremy, peering through the window of the right-hand door. He pushed it open and shone his light around. It was a surgery, with a pair of examination tables arrayed beneath large overhead lamps on moveable booms. Cabinets against the walls proved to contain drawers of surgical instruments and other supplies, suggesting that whoever had been here intended to come back. A computer terminal on a desk was powered off and resisted all attempts to bring it to life. But there was something else – and emergency first aid kit.

"Stimpacks," Eva breathed delightedly, opening the case. "Four of them. And Rad-Away," she added, holding up a bottle of radiation sickness pills.

"Do you know how to use that stuff?" Jeremy asked as she stowed them away.

"I took that med rotation, remember? The one you skipped out of. These stimpack things are fantastically expensive, but they'll heal almost anything." She patted the case. "I know it's stealing to take them, but they're literally the difference between life and death."

The other room was quite large, with half a dozen wheeled, padded, tables in it, each in its own space complete with IV poles and instrument stands and various other pieces of medical equipment. Floor-length curtains were tied back against the walls but could be drawn around to provide some privacy for each station.

Jeremy shone his light at the nearest one. It looked like a long, reclining chair, with a raised back and armrests, and at the front a pair of raised, padded supports that swung out from either side.

"Delivery tables," Eva said. "They're for having a baby. " She shone her light on it, too, pointing out the details. "You lie back there, see, and put your legs up on those things."

Jeremy made a face. "That can't be comfortable," he said. "What about those? " His light picked out adjustable cuffs attached to each of the leg and arm rests, and a wide, heavy strap that pulled tightly across the table at what would be about chest height.

Eva shook her head. "Oh my God," she said. "Why are those there? They're for restraint, obviously, but why would Vault-Tec build something like this?"

"Maybe it was an asylum," Jeremy said, shining his light around some more. He got to one of the other tables farther back and stopped. The cushions were slashed and torn, and stained a dark, reddish-brown. One of the stirrups was bent almost flat, and more stains splashed across the walls and dripped onto the floor around it, and on the wall next to it was the clear imprint of a bloodied, human hand.

Eva bent over and retched, her empty stomach heaving a thin stream of bile out onto the floor. Jeremy, too, felt his gorge rising as he stared, unable to wrench his gaze from the scene of horror before them. After a moment Eva straightened up, pulling herself against him and shaking uncontrollably.

"I guess now we know why they tied them down," he said, grimly, putting his arm around her. He fought to control the heaving of his own stomach. "Have we seen enough yet?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice, her face buried against him. "Let's get out of this awful place."

The room at the end was a nursery, with a dozen or so empty bassinets laid out in a neat rectangle in the centre, in front of the large windows that looked back to the ante-chamber from which they'd entered ("A viewing room? " Jeremy asked quizzically. "For who?"). There was a nurses' station at one end with supply shelves and a set of tall filing cabinets behind it, and on the other, change tables and a pair of old-fashioned rocking chairs.

Jeremy began rifling through the supply cabinets in search of anything useful. More of those stimpacks would be nice, he thought, not to mention antibiotics. Or weapons. If they were going Outside, they would need weapons. And food, a rumbling in his belly reminded him. Finding nothing, he was trying to hack into the computer terminal at the nurses' station when Eva called him over.

"Come look at this," she said. She had one of the filing cabinets open and was leafing through some of the files.

He came and looked over her shoulder. "What are they?"

"Baby files, I think. I suppose that makes sense. We're in a nursery, right?" She held one up. There wasn't much in it: an index card labelled "To-01" with a list of typewritten statistics below: date of birth, sex, birth weight and length. "Healthy male / good breath sounds" was scrawled at the bottom. It was clipped to a split-print photograph showing a chubby, new-born baby on one side and a life-sized set of infant footprints in ink on the other. The only other thing in the file was a long form filled with cryptic medical notations ("Some of this is DNA-related, I think," Eva said, "but I don't know what it means"). "REJECTED" was stamped across the bottom in big, red letters, with a date scrawled in pen beneath it.

"Jan 30, 2267," Eva read out loud. "Ten days after his birthday. What does it mean?"

They looked at each other. "It means it wasn't just Vault-Tec that was using this place," Jeremy said slowly, voicing what they were both thinking. Together they went through the next dozen files. They were all like the first one: a photo, a card and a form with "Rejected" stamped across the bottom. All but the last two.

"Je-01," Jeremy read, holding one up. "And Ev-02a. Eva…?"

Eva shook her head. "Oh God, Jeremy, look at their birthdates," she breathed. "How can that be?"

"I see that. They're us. These babies, they're us. They're you and me."

She shook her head again, harder. "No. They can't be. My mother's told me a hundred times about the day I was born, how much I liked being where I was, in her belly, how the doctor made her take long walks up and down the stairs to get her labour started, and then how she held me in her arms afterward." Her breath caught. "I know how I was born, and it wasn't like this."

Jeremy pointed to the baby picture. "Look at her birthmark, just up high above her ear. It's your birthmark, exactly. She even looks a bit like you." He took her hand. "This is you. And that other one there is me. And this place is where we were born."

-OOO-

It was a baby factory, I guess you'd call it. We started working our way through the rest of the drawers, pulling files here and there. The oldest ones dated from back before the War. There was a big gap just after that, then they started up again about a century ago. By then it wasn't Vault-Tec anymore, it was the Institute. After that, there'd be a new set of files every ten or twenty years. Until us. We were the last ones.

They didn't give them names, just numbers. Most of the babies were rejected, all but two or three from each group. Sometimes all of them. What happened to them? And what about the ones who made it, like us? Were they all brought into the Institute? Given to pretend parents and raised to be good little slaves? I guess they must have been.

We found the mothers in the other cabinet. They'd bring them in in groups – ten or twenty at a time, over the space of a few months. It never said their names or where they were from or how they got there. Just their initials and the date they were brought in, their age, height, weight, and a description. And their test results. They tested for all sorts of things: IQ, reflexes, vision and hearing, genetic drift, you name it. Sometimes there were pictures, and they were all pretty. And healthy-looking: good teeth, no radiation scars or deformities, no sign of disease. It didn't much matter, most of them were stamped "Rejected" anyway.

It was a hell of a pyramid we sat on top of. Of sixty-three women brought to Vault 54 in the winter of 2266, only thirteen gave birth, and of those, only two babies were adopted to families in the Institute. I suppose I should consider myself lucky.

Of course, as soon as we found the mother's files, we went looking for our own. It didn't take us long. E.V. and J.E. – you'd think we could have come up with a less obvious way to name children. There weren't any pictures of either one. Eva was disappointed about that, but from the type-written description, they could have been sisters. They were almost exactly the same age, and I didn't need a photograph to know the way her hair would have fallen around her face, or her nose tilt up at the tip, or how her eyes would have flashed when she was angry. Mother and daughter would have been two peas to the pod.

There was a bunch more stuff in there for the women who actually conceived: fertilization dates, conception dates, test results, miscarriages. Eva's mother had given birth to twins, it turned out. I'm not sure how we missed that the first time. Ev-02b. Her form was stamped "Rejected".

After that we just sat on the floor together, all those old files scattered around us, not saying anything, just sitting with our backs against the cabinet and my arm around her. I was thinking about how many times Eva told me she wished she'd had a sister.

Finally, she got up and started putting everything back the way we'd found it. I helped. We both knew there was no going back home, now. How could we, knowing what we did about those poor women and the things that must have been done to them here? I suppose it's possible the Institute paid them handsomely for their trouble and sent them back home. But I didn't think so.

It took us a while to work through the rest of the Vault; I won't bore you with the details. Once we stumbled on a squad of Gen-2 security robots all standing at attention. That was a bad moment, let me tell you, until we realized they were covered in dust just like everything else. Same with the Miss Nanny nursing robots we found in a side room off the nursery. There were barracks-type rooms as well, with beds and lockers, but they were stripped bare and the dust was thick on everything. I don't think the Institute used many humans in their breeding program.

Finally, we found the intake area. It was like the detention level – an open space with a gallery looking down into it. But it was smaller, and instead of cells there were big, open cages along both walls, like the holding unit they had me in here at the police station. There were Gen-2s up there, too, but they weren't moving and we ignored them. Off at one end was a decontamination unit. There were bins there with cast-offs in them – clothes, boots, blankets, personal gear, things like that. It was all pretty poor stuff. Probably they salvaged anything worth keeping and this was just what was left over. But it was better than wandering around in Institute jumpsuits, so we picked out the best we could find and changed into it.

We made one lucky find – a full rucksack, tucked underneath a bunch of other stuff. It must have just got overlooked. Whoever it was, they'd been pretty well supplied. There were some freeze-dried rations – that stuff lasts forever if the seal is good – and a few cans of purified water, which we drank some of right away as by then we were pretty thirsty. There was also a decent sleeping bag rolled up tight and stuffed in the bottom, along with some matches, cooking gear, a canteen and other bits and pieces. It was all stamped "US Army" and looked pretty new. Maybe they'd stumbled across an old military cache. But the best part, there was a gun and ammunition. It was just an old piece of pipe wired onto a wooden frame, and it wasn't much to look at. But it was dead simple to operate: just feed in a cartridge, pull back the slide and pull the trigger. And it was better than nothing.

I thought about the woman who'd owned it. There was no way to tell who she was or how she'd managed to hang on to it. Maybe she'd kept it hidden then stashed it out of sight when no one was looking, hoping she could make a break for it later. Maybe it was my mother, or Eva's. It didn't matter. In the manner of mothers everywhere, she had reached down across the years and given us a precious gift, and in my mind I thanked her for it.

At the far end of the intake area was an oversized elevator, one of the few things we found in there that had power. And at the top of the elevator we finally found the way out.

-OOO-

Eva took Jeremy's hand. "This is it," she whispered.

The elevator opened into a large, high-ceilinged room, roughly cut from virgin rock and clearly at one time a natural cavern. Panels in the ceiling cast a harsh, actinic light over the room, which contained stacks of crates and heavy machinery of the lifting, moving and excavating kind. The uneven floor ended in a deep chasm that split the room in half. The exit door was recessed into the rock wall on the other side. It was about twice the height of a man and shaped like a wide-toothed, steel cog. The hub was painted yellow, with the number "54" stencilled across it, and it opened onto a narrow metal platform with a control panel in one corner. A similar platform extended across the lip of the chasm on this side, with the stub end of a retractable bridge poking out from it. On it was a raised panel with two keys, one labelled "Bridge" and the other "Door".

Jeremy took a deep breath. "I'm ready if you are."

She kissed him, then, long and soft, standing up on her toes to reach his face. His lips opened to meet hers and his arms wrapped instinctively around her. He closed his eyes, pulling her closer and losing himself in the taste of her, the feel of her body and the smell of her hair and skin. The universe shrank until it held only the two of them.

An eternity later, he tasted salt and felt a wetness on his face. Pulling away, he looked down at her in alarm. Tears spilled from her eyes, etching twin tracks down her cheeks.

"It's nothing," she said, laying her head against his chest. "I just didn't realize it would be so hard to say good-bye to everything."

He stroked her hair. "I know." They held each other for a long time, standing there at the edge of the unknown. Finally she giggled, incongruously.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What?"

She giggled again. "Wouldn't you know it? The moment we've both been waiting for, and the most comfortable thing around is the seat of an earth mover."

He blinked in puzzlement, then comprehension flooded his face and he laughed out loud, waking the echoes around them, and so she did, too, and before they were done they had collapsed to the floor, holding each other tightly and shaking with laughter. Afterward, they stood up, wiping tears from their eyes.

"I wouldn't want to do it here, anyway," he said, seriously. "Too many bad things happened in this place. Besides, we'll have lots of time for that." He took her hands and looked into her eyes. "My whole life, if you want it."

"Mine too," she answered, and it was done. They turned the keys together, then watched as with a clank and a rumble the bridge slowly extended itself to latch onto the platform on the other side, and then with a hiss, the door sucked back into the wall and rolled away, revealing a smooth, dark tunnel leading steeply upwards.

She reached out her hand to him and together they crossed the bridge.

-OOO-

Far below, a green light on a control panel winked out suddenly. It stayed dark for a moment, then began to flash an insistent red. A technician consulted the thick manual in the drawer beside her, then reached out and flipped a switch. A view screen lit up. She watched for a moment, then picked up a communicator.

"Sir?" she said. "You'd better come down here."

All across Vault 54 status lights blinked on, and one by one the eye lamps of the Gen-2s flickered to life.

-OOO-


	11. The Sundered Heart

"You must have found Stealth boys," Nick said.

"Found what?" Jeremy looked up from the bowl of stew he was gulping down. Midnight had come and gone, and the kindly desk sergeant had dropped in with a late supper and another can of water before going off shift.

"Stealth boys. I know you used at least one, when Beddoes chased you from the Dugout the night Eva was murdered. You were standing right there while he was looking for you."

"Oh, those invisibility things. We found some in one of the offices. We didn't even know what they were until we tried one. Kind of stupid, really. What if they'd been bombs?"

He pushed the bowl away. "How did she die, Mr. Valentine? I read that newspaper, the one where you said Eva was murdered. Who killed her?"

Nick leaned back in his chair. "Well, that's the question, isn't it? You were with her. Why don't you tell me?"

"I don't know. I don't know. Everything should have been fine. We were here, we were safe. After all we'd been through, I finally felt like it was going to be okay. I watched her fall asleep beside me, but I couldn't sleep myself so I slipped out, just to take a little walk. Then the guard started asking me all those questions and I got panicked, so I ran away."

He buried his face in his hands. "That cop… I wasn't doing anything wrong. All I had to do was answer his questions and he'd have let me go. I could have gone back to Eva and everything would have been fine. Instead I ran away, and when she needed me I wasn't there."

"What happened next?" Nick asked.

"I went back to the room. But when I got there – " his voice choked off into a strangled sob. Nick waited, carefully keeping his expression neutral. Finally the boy recovered himself. "She was just lying there. Her eyes were open and she wouldn't answer. And when I touched her, she was c-cold."

"What did you do after that?"

"I ran away. I jammed all our stuff into the backpack and found a place to hide. I didn't know what to do. I thought if they caught me there, they'd think it was me who did it. I ran away from that cop, didn't I? They'd think I ran because I killed her."

His voice caught again and he closed his eyes, turning his face away. "I didn't kill her," he whispered, finally. "I don't even know how it was she died. And then someone … I heard them say someone dug her up. They said it was ferals, dug her up to eat her." His eyes were wide with horror and he looked as if he was going to vomit up the stew he'd just finished.

"I can put your mind at ease about that," Nick said. "We don't know who stole her body, or why, but it wasn't ferals. Listen, kid, I know this is a hard time for you. But I need you to answer a few more questions. It won't bring your friend back, but it might help me figure out who killed her."

"I thought you already decided it was me."

"Well, I'm still in the dark about that. Let's start with innocent until proven guilty and go from there." Nick turned to a new page in his notebook. "Tell me about Lenny Breckenridge. No wait … I'm pretty sure I already know the answer to this, but first, why was the Institute breeding Wasteland children every generation?"

-OOO-

The Genetic Diversity Program, they called it. We found the name stamped on files in the nursery. I guess it should have been obvious. The Institute is a closed population. Generation after generation, after a while we're all first cousins, and that means inbreeding and genetic drift. If the files are right, for the last hundred years we've been freshening up the gene pool by regularly kidnapping women from the surface.

Knowing that, some of the rules make more sense. Like why you had to marry who they told you to. Or the Baby Lottery. That's a random draw every year, to see who can have babies. There have to be population controls or we'd run out of room. The Baby Lottery keeps it fair. Except I remember when we were kids, there was a woman who won the lottery five years running. The last two, she said there must have been a mistake, that they hadn't even entered. They made her do it anyway. I'll bet if we looked, we'd find her name in those files, with a baby picture and a pair of footprints.

We never found Lenny Breckenridge. But the year we were born, the GDP paid him a whole bunch of money for something, it didn't say what. But he was a trader, which meant he would have travelled all over. So maybe he was the one bringing the women in. We didn't know. But he was the only clue we had, and I think Eva hoped he'd know what happened to our mothers. That's why Mr. Abernathy suggested we go to Bunker Hill. That's where all the traders were, he told us, and if anyone knew anything about Breckenridge, it would be there. But we never made it to Bunker Hill.

They were nice, the Abernathy's. The only nice people we met here. Once when I was helping him fix a fence, Mr. Abernathy said how there was a place next to theirs where the people had moved away. How if we wanted, he'd help us set up there. We sat on the roof that night watching the stars before bed. There was a shooting star, and Lucy – that's their younger daughter – said to make a wish, so I did. I wished that me and Eva would live there forever, be farmers and have a family and grow old together.

I think we would have gone home if we could have. The Commonwealth was worse than we ever imagined. Ten times worse. A hundred times. How does anyone manage to live here?

From the beginning, we were making for Diamond City. Of course, we didn't know it was Diamond City. We didn't know anything. But it was night when we came out, and except for the Glowing Sea – and we knew what that was, there was no way we were going there – the Diamond City lights were the only landmark we could see. Easy enough, right? Find a way across the river then head for the lights and with any luck, we'd be there by morning.

Instead, it was a nightmare. We ran into ghouls, not half an hour out of the Vault. A pack of them. They had something trapped and they were eating it. It was still alive, but they had it pinned down and it was screaming and screaming. We froze. In shock, I guess. And then one of them looked up and they came after us, so we ran. We didn't think about shooting them or anything; we just ran. Finally we came out by the river and there was a bridge with some lights and people on it. I've never been happier to see anyone in my life. We ran toward them yelling for help with the ghouls right behind us, and they killed them all.

We were pretty grateful, because the truth is they saved our lives. We tried to tell them that. Then someone grabbed Eva and she slapped him and he laughed, but it wasn't a nice laugh, and then he grabbed at her again. Suddenly I had a pretty good idea how this was going to end, and it didn't look good for us, so I swung my hammer at one and caught him just above the ear. The sound of it… I'll never forget that sound. I'm sure I killed him. They just looked at us, stunned, and Eva screamed "Run" and so we ran, back the way we came. I kept waiting to be shot, but someone yelled to take us alive and so they all chased after us, laughing and screaming like crazy people. And then we ducked into an alley and there was another pack of ferals just standing there, so we ran right through them. I'm not sure who was more surprised, the ghouls or the guys chasing us, but it worked. We got away.

We were completely lost by then, stumbling around in the dark, so when we found a place to hole up, we took it. It was just the upper floor of a building where the roof had fallen in, but you had to crawl to get into it and there was room inside to stand up and plenty of holes to spy out of.

Those guys from the bridge spent the rest of the night and most of the next day hunting us. We could see them searching the ruins, yelling back and forth to each other and shouting out stuff about what they'd do when they caught us. They must have taken a drubbing at the hands of those ghouls, or maybe the one I killed was really important, because they were furious.

We hid there all day. It was then that Eva suggested we go back home.

-OOO-

"What do you mean?" Jeremy said in surprise.

Eva stared at the wall. "You were right, Jeremy," she said, finally. "You were right about the people up here. I didn't believe you, before. But those people on the bridge…" She shivered. "What if everyone here is like that? How would we live?"

Jeremy slithered back from the hole he'd been peering through and made his way to where Eva huddled, wrapped in the sleeping bag. The sun was westering and long shadows were just starting to creep over the ruins. The hunt had howled around them for hours, but it looked now like the hunters had finally pulled out. One upside to all of this activity – there'd been sporadic fighting all day as the raiders rooted through every nook and corner. By now anything that lived in the vicinity was probably dead or fled.

It was time to move, before it got dark. There was always the possibility of lookouts lurking in wait for them, but it was a chance they'd have to take. Jeremy had been trying to orient himself all day. Between the ghouls and the raiders, he reckoned they were close to where they'd started. Farther to the west, the ruins petered out into more open country, and he thought he could make out a railway bridge crossing the river in the distance.

He hunkered down beside Eva and put his arms around her. "Look, I know this is bad. But we're still alive, aren't we? Everybody here can't be like the ones we met. People have to grow food. They have to raise children, make things. They can't all be out looting old grocery stores to stay alive. All we have to do is find the settled people and we'll be okay."

"But how will we know who we can trust and who…" she broke off and looked at the bruise on her arm where the raider had grabbed her.

"Listen, those lights we saw before are a settlement, a big one. Power like that means lots of people, all living together, and that means rules and order and some kind of government. We'll be safe there."

"You don't know that. And even if we make it there, what if we don't like their rules?"

"Then we'll find somewhere else. Besides, we're almost out of water. We can't stay here no matter what, and I think we should get moving while there's still some light."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "They must be frantic about us at home," she said. "I'm sorry to be such a dishrag about everything, Jeremy, especially when it was all my idea. I guess I didn't expect it to be this way. I'm not sure what I did expect. But this isn't it." She blinked up at him. "I'm frightened. Aren't you?"

"Frightened?" he said. "Me? Of course not." He raised himself up on his knees and thumped his chest. "We manly men are never frightened. We laugh in the face of death, like this: 'ha ha!' See?" He grinned down at her.

She laughed. "I'm glad one of us isn't. Jeremy, what if we went back? What if we went back and told everybody what we found, showed them Vault 54 and the terrible things they did there, made the Institute own up to it. Our people are scientists; they live their whole lives searching for truth. They'd listen – they'd have to. We'd make them. And then maybe we could open up the Institute to the surface and people wouldn't have to live stuck in a hole in the ground."

"And us? You and me?"

"We'd be heroes," she laughed. "They'd put up statues to us, and make us go to parties and sit on the Executive Council, and we'd be ever so important." She looked down at herself. "I'd need some new clothes, probably."

The smile slipped from her face. "It would never work, would it?"

He shook his head. "I'm pretty sure not."

"No, me neither. But at least we have each other, and this nice place you found for us. A bit of a fixer-upper, true, but much more comfortable than the seat of an earth mover." She smiled. "Maybe the river can wait until tomorrow."

Then she spread out the sleeping bag and drew him down beside her and they made love together for the first time, with the sunset streaming in around them and the dust motes dancing in the air like flakes of gold. And while it wasn't quite what they expected – since they'd only ever read about it in books before – it was also more than they could ever have imagined, and because it was the first one, it was the best one.

-OOO-

Eva smiled lazily up at him. "Why are you so beautiful?" she asked.

"It's my mother's fault," he said, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbow. "She had all the good genes. Otherwise I'd have an extra nose growing out of my forehead."

"I'm sure it would be a beautiful nose."

"I'm sure it would. With all the rads we must be soaking up out here, I'll probably start growing it any day now."

"Well, if you do, I'll cherish it." She looked down at herself. "Maybe I could grow some new things, too."

"Oh, I hope not. I'm not sure I could stand all that additional bliss."

"Luckily for you," she said, dryly, "mutations don't work that way. But if your hair starts to fall out or your face comes off, let me know. I'll still love you, though."

Jeremy look at her in surprise. "That's the first time you've ever said that."

"Said what?"

"That you loved me."

"Oh." She blinked. "But I've always loved you. Didn't I say?"

"Nope."

"Well, it's true. You're the first memory I have. We were in the crèche, and you had a toy I wanted. But you looked so happy with it that I took Toby Marshall's instead, which upset him terribly and which I'm sure you have no recollection of. I knew then that you were the only boy for me. "

"You certainly took your time telling me."

"I had to make sure it wasn't just a phase, didn't I? But what about you? I haven't heard you using that particular word about me, although I do distinctly recall you saying it about cream cheese on several occasions."

"Mmmmm," he said. "Cream cheese. But I did too say it, just a few minutes ago. About ten times, in fact. Perhaps you weren't listening."

"Oh, but that's different. Jeannie Hunter told me guys say things like that all the time when they're doing the deed. You have to get them to say it afterwards. That's when you know for sure."

"Oh, Jeannie Hunter said that, did she? And did she also do this?"

Eva gasped, then a slow smile spread across her face. "No, she most certainly did not. Although I think she may have hinted a few times that she wanted to." She pushed his hand away. "You have to say it, first."

Jeremy shook his head at her. "Eva, you exasperate me."

"Nevertheless. Jeannie Hunter was very specific about this."

"Fine. I love you. And I have loved you since the day you took Toby's Mr. Spaceman doll instead of mine, which I remember quite well, thank you." He kissed her, then kissed her again, and then they stopped talking for a long time.

-OOO-

We couldn't have gone home if we wanted to, it turned out. We knew the hunt would be up once we didn't come back. When they started asking around, it would probably come out pretty quickly what we were up to. After that, all they'd have to do was read Eva's diaries to know where we'd been and what our plans were. Once they traced us to Vault 54, the tracks in the dust would have told them everything they needed to know about where we'd gone.

We half expected they'd try to bring us back, so we were on the lookout for patrollers. What we didn't expect was for them to set a Courser on us. Maybe you don't know what a Courser is? It's a very old word. It means "bloodhound". They're a kind of synth. Gen 3's, so almost indistinguishable from human, but stronger, faster, smarter. Tougher. The Institute uses them to bring back escaped synths, mostly, and they're good at it. Only this one wasn't trying to capture us. His orders were shoot to kill.

It didn't make any sense, when you think about it. No one was going to believe us about Vault 54, and even if they did, who would care? Who cares how a bunch of savages feel? We're doing them a favour, they'd say, giving them a chance to contribute to the civilization we were creating out of the ashes. Hell, those women we kidnapped should have thanked us.

No, it seems unlikely that anyone in the Institute was going to waste much compassion over a few shivering wrecks yanked out of the Wastelands and used as breeding stock for the greater good of Mankind. So I don't know why they were trying to kill us. But they were, and if it hadn't been for the most unlikely of chances – a reflection in a window that still had a pane of glass in it, the fact that I recognized the Courser for what he was – we would have died, both of us, right there. Instead I threw myself into Eva and the shot burned a hole in the wall, instead of in us, and so we ran. We had the distance on him, thankfully, enough to get around a corner and trigger those stealth boy things. He went right past us and kept going, up some stairs and into the building above us. So we ran again, staying out of sight and keeping as quiet as we could. The stealth boys didn't last very long, but they were enough to get us out of immediate danger.

After that, we just kept on moving, trying to put as much distance between him and us as we could, while we could. There wasn't any chance he'd give up; they never do. But we thought if we could go to ground somewhere, sooner or later the Institute would decide we were dead and call off the hunt. It wasn't really much of a chance. But it was our only one.

That day was all run and hide. The whole area was a maze of fallen-down buildings and narrow alleyways snaking around and running back into each other or just ending suddenly, forcing us to back track. I told Eva we were working our way back to the river, but the truth is, we were completely lost. Maybe that helped. The Courser didn't know where we were going any more than we did, and I think he must have zigged when we zagged, and then just kept on going. It gave us a big head start, but of course we didn't know that at the time, and we spent every minute looking over our shoulders.

But he wasn't the only thing we had to worry about. The ghouls were the worst. Twice more we had to run from them, and I was terrified we were going to get trapped in a dead end. Once one caught me. It came boiling up out of a hole under some broken concrete, grabbed my leg and started dragging me back down with it. Eva shot it through the head. She was hysterical afterwards. I think we both were. Another time we hid from some soldiers in old-fashioned power armour, and once we saw a pair of scavengers get dragged down by a pack of wild dogs. Afterwards, we went through their stuff. But we didn't look at them. There wasn't much left to look at anyway.

When it got dark, I realized we'd been travelling away from the river instead of parallel to it. By then we were miles out of our way, but the ruins had finally thinned out, so we just re-oriented ourselves as best we could and kept moving. Our water was long gone and we were pretty thirsty, so we took a chance and drank from a little pond we found. We took radiation pills, just in case. Turns out there's other things in the water besides rads, and we spent a pretty bad couple of days holed up in some shack we found in the woods. I guess if the Courser had knocked on the door, we'd have welcomed him with open arms.

But it wasn't the Courser who found us. It was Blake Abernathy.

-OOO-

"You know the rest," Jeremy said. "We couldn't have stayed with them, even if we'd wanted to. Sooner or later the Courser was going to turn up, and we didn't want to risk their lives by being there when he did. We'd already decided the safest place for us would be Diamond City where we could lose ourselves in the crowd."

"What about Lenny Breckenridge?"

"We figured he could wait. It was more important for us to stay alive. When we told the Abernathy's we were making for Bunker Hill, that was a little fib, in case the Courser came by asking questions. Instead we caught a ride with some farmers going into Diamond City and the men at the gate didn't even notice us. After that, Eva just blended in somewhere inconspicuous while I went and found us a room. We didn't want to be seen together, right? So if the Courser asked, people wouldn't recognize us so easily."

"That doesn't explain how Eva got into the room at the Dugout," Nick pointed out. "Yefim Bobrov was adamant that you were the only one he saw go in and out."

"Was he the drunk one who sold us the room? I don't think he could see his own feet by the time I got there. Look, Mr. Valentine, people see what they expect to see. We learned that from sneaking around in places where we weren't supposed to. I suppose it helped that we were both dressed the same, but no one there cared enough to look at us anyway. They saw someone go in, saw them come out, saw them go in again. Pretty basic, really."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. It was Danny Sullivan.

"We had to let Solomon go," he said without preamble. "There was a brawl up at the Colonial and they needed the space in the cage. Besides, there's nothing we can really hold him on. He's not going anywhere, so if you need to talk to him some more, he'll be at the Market or at home. Also, I got word Cricket's awake and she's asking for you."

Nick closed up his notebook and put it away. "Thanks, Danny," he said. "I'm pretty much done here anyway. Look, can you find the kid a bed? He's had a long day. You can handcuff him if you want, but I doubt it's necessary. Just don't let him wander off. I need to talk to Cricket then I'll come back and collect him."

He turned to Jeremy. "You stay here. I'll be back."

-OOO-


	12. The Heart of the Storm

Cricket had been moved to a room at the Dugout by the time Nick got there. She lay propped up in bed, wrapped in bandages, the fingers of one hand splinted, her face bruised and swollen and her eyes a pair of bloodshot orbs staring out from her puffy cheeks. A third stimpack had helped; her wounds were starting to heal. But it would be days before she could get out of bed unassisted.

She flicked her eyes over at him as he came in. "Nick Valentine," she croaked. "It's about time you got here. You find the asshole that did this to me?"

"Not yet," he said. "Mind if I sit down?" He gestured at the chair next to the bed. She waved him into it, so he made himself comfortable. There was a half-empty bottle on the nightstand with a glass beside it.

"Jimbo," she called, turning her head with some effort to look at the older of her two guards. "Bring a glass for the nice detective and then get out of here. But don't go far."

"Okay, boss." He brought another glass and poured in a generous amount, re-filled Cricket's and handed it to her. He nodded at Nick. "C'mon, Billy," he said. "Let's go find a drink."

After they were gone, Nick took out his notebook. "I've got a few questions I'd like to ask you, if you've a mind," he said.

Cricket nodded. "Sure. Just fill me up when I get empty."

"Will do." Nick settled himself in the chair. "What do you remember about the other night?"

"All of it, Valentine. I remember every damned thing."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's not much of a story, unless you're the kind of guy gets off on that sort of thing, which I don't expect you are. Short answer is, he beat me for a while. Then he did… other things. Then he beat me some more. He liked to alternate." She drained her glass and held it out for more.

Nick poured. "I gather this isn't Solomon we're talking about."

Cricket laughed wheezily. "Christ," she said, "that little watch-and-wank? Not likely. Anyway, he was passed out in the next room the whole time."

Nick made a note. "Can you describe your attacker?"

"Of course I can," Cricket spat. "He's Lenny Breckenridge. Six-four, couple hundred pounds, bald like a bullet. It's been a few years since I seen him last. But he's not the kind of person you forget. "

-OOO-

Cricket stepped out of the Dugout. A gust of laughter followed her out, cutting off suddenly as she closed the door behind her. The little patio was dark and empty. Some scraps of litter flitted about in the chill, December wind, and an empty bottle that had tipped over on one of the tables was rolling noisily back and forth. A few flakes of snow were beginning to fall, drifting down from the night sky.

She started at a sudden sound, clapping her hand to the gun at her waist and looking over her shoulder, but there was nothing. She swore. Her nerves were jangled and she felt thin and stretched out, like a rubber band ready to snap. Too much going on, too much crazy, and the whiskey wasn't helping. Solomon would have what she needed. Where the hell was he? She checked his stall in the market on the off-chance he was there, but it was dark and empty. That only left his home, up in the stands overlooking the water plant. She hoped there wasn't a party going on. She wasn't in the mood for one of Solomon's stupid parties.

She was at the foot of the stairs leading up to his door when the attacker came out of the shadows behind her. She heard him at the last second and twisted, elbowing him hard with her left as she went for her gun. But he barely seemed to notice the blow and chopped at her wrist, knocking the weapon free and kicking it away. He pinned her against the wall and clamped a hand over her mouth, forcing his heavy body against her. His breath was hot in her ear.

"Why Cricket, what a wonderful surprise, " he said. A stab of fear went through her as she recognized the voice, and she fought harder. He ignored her struggles while he patted her down and disarmed her. Then he slapped her open-handed across the ear, making her head ring. "You don't seem pleased to see me," he added sadly.

"What do you want from me?" she hissed. "I told you last time, we're done. I did everything you asked, remember? And then some."

"But Cricket… I wasn't done asking."

He pulled her around, hustling her up the stairs toward Solomon's door. She collapsed suddenly, breaking partly free of his grip and driving her elbow forcefully into his rib cage while simultaneously stamping down on his instep with her booted heel. He laughed in her ear, then slammed her into the door, cuffing her hard across the head. The world spun around her as he wrenched the door open and pushed her inside. She stumbled and fell. His heavy boot caught her in the belly as she went down and she grunted in pain, the breath whooshing out of her. Another kick drew more pain, blossoming out from the area of her kidneys. She rolled out of reach. There was an empty bottle and she snatched it up, breaking it against a table leg and brandishing the jagged end as she tried to rise to her knees. He kicked out, sending it spinning from her grasp. She felt the bones in her hand break.

"Oh, little Cricket," he said, dragging her up by the hair. "What a happy chance it was, running into you like this."

-OOO-

"That went on for a while," Cricket continued, her voice a thin whisper issuing from between her cracked, swollen lips. "My old man used to beat me when he was tired of laying into my ma. But he was an amateur compared to Lenny. And that was just the foreplay."

"Where was Solomon this whole time?"

"On the bed in the next room. Unconscious or dead, I couldn't tell at first, but I know he woke up at least once, started looking around all confused, like he didn't know where he was. Lenny held him down and jabbed him with something that put him out again. That was a lot later, though." She gulped down her whiskey and held it out for more, then continued:

"He left once. Said he had business. I don't know how long he was gone, maybe a couple hours. I tried to get free, but there was no way. Something must have happened he didn't like, because he was in a foul mood when he came back. Things got pretty bad after that."

She closed her eyes and fell silent. Nick began to wonder if she'd fallen asleep. Finally she continued:

"He'd go at me a while then take a break. Between rounds he'd talk about what he was going to do to me next. Didn't much matter, I already knew how it was going to end. Daylight came, people knocked at the door a few times, looking for Solomon. He just waited until they went away and then started up again. Finally I was slipping in and out of consciousness. Then one time I opened my eyes and he was gone. The door was closed and I just lay there, waiting for him to come back, listening to some water dripping somewhere and realizing it was my blood, dripping onto the floor. My life, pouring out of me one drop at a time. Kind of peaceful, really.

"I don't remember much of anything after that until I heard voices in the next room. I thought it was him. Instead it was you and Sullivan."

Then without warning she began to weep: thin, ragged sobs that left her tiny, mangled body twisted over in pain. Nick looked away, not willing to intrude on her vulnerability. The bottle was empty by then so he got up to get a fresh one from the cabinet. He opened it and poured her a new drink. His own stood mostly untouched on the table.

She took the drink, wiping her eyes. "Sorry, Nick."

"Not your fault." He sat back down. "I know this is hard, Cricket, but is there anything else you can tell me about Breckenridge? Where he lives, who he knows?"

She shook her head. "He says he's a trader, from down south somewhere, I heard, but that's bullshit. I never seen him operating anything that looked like a trader's rig. He just comes and goes, but when he's here, he's always sniffing around, asking questions. Like he's some kind of spy. Hell, he could be, for all I know. Maybe he's NCR. I saw him with California money once. As for where he is now, I don't know. If he's smart, halfway back to California and still picking up speed."

"But you did him a favour once."

"Yeah, you could call it that. Three, four years ago. He was looking for a girl. A particular kind of girl. Young, dark hair, big doe eyes. I told him look under any lamp-post in Goodneighbour, he could probably find ten like that. He wasn't interested in that kind. Finally I let out I knew just the type, worked for one of the big trading houses out of Bunker Hill. He made me bring her to him. She wasn't interested at first, so I… I convinced her. I told her he was looking for someone to handle his books, keep track of accounts, that the money would be good." She closed her eyes. "He made me help clean up, after. I should have killed him then. Instead I took his money. He always had lots of money."

-OOO-

The interview with Cricket had given Nick lots to think about. It was early morning by then, a thin sliver of cold winter sun just peering over the top of the eastern wall. He swung by the gate to talk to the night shift there before they went off, then to the market to talk with Solomon. The chem-dealer was just opening his stall and he was nearly prostrate with gratitude when he saw Nick, pumping his hand and babbling his thanks over and over again. Nick went through the events of the other night with him one more time, confirming what he'd learned from Cricket: that Solomon had spent the time either unconscious or in a state of confusion.

Whistling tunelessly to himself, he turned for home. The pieces were starting to fall into place. There were a few still drifting around aimlessly, but he was sure that he finally had the general outline of events. Like doing an old-fashioned jigsaw puzzle, it was now just a matter of finding the pieces that connected all the parts together.

Walking down the alley leading up to his office, he noticed the door to the plant nursery where Jeremy had been hiding hanging slightly open. He took out his flashlight and switched it on. He'd taken the key from the boy and meant to lock the place up anyway, but now that he was here, it seemed like a good idea to search the place one last time. He pushed open the door and stepped through, and as he did a heavy body struck him from behind, driving him into the wall and pinning him there. An arm wrapped around his throat. He struggled in the vise-like grip then stopped when he felt the muzzle of a pistol against his temple."

"If it isn't the famous Nick Valentine," a voice purred in his ear. "I've been looking forward to a private chat. Things were so rushed last time."

"You must have the wrong guy," Nick said. "I'm pretty sure we've never met before."

"Oh, but we have," the voice said lightly. "You and a certain Railroad agent. I regretted not having the chance to properly introduce myself, but things escalated rather swiftly, as you'll recall. It was my fault for surprising you like that. But now, here we are again. You know, Nick," he continued, "we've a great deal in common. We're like old friends, you and I. Why, we're even colleagues of a sort, both looking for things that are missing. I think we could help each other, to our mutual benefit."

"That's a lot of fancy words you've got there, mister," Nick said. "I still can't say I know what it is you're talking about."

"Yes, I think you do. There's a boy. I believe you must know him. A tall, slender young man. He slipped away from me once, but I tracked him to this place. I've been waiting quite patiently, in fact, but now he seems to have disappeared again. His family misses him terribly. I was too late to save poor Eva, and I'd hate for the same thing to happen to Jeremy. I'm sure you'll agree the Commonwealth is too dangerous for inexperienced children to be wandering around in alone."

Nick shook his head. "Sorry, fella, I don't know where he is. Why don't you leave me your card? If I see him, I'll pass it along."

The Courser's voice hardened. "You're playing with me, Mr. Valentine. That's a very dangerous game for you. I strongly advise you to tell me what you know. And then I suggest you stay out of it. This is bigger than you can imagine."

Nick laughed. "A little late in the game for that, don't you think? Usually the threaten-the-detective-to-make-him-go-away part happens _before_ the trash-the-office-to-reinforce-the-message part. Just a little heads-up, pal: I already know it's the Institute. So what? I'm a synth, too; your big boogey-man act doesn't wash with me."

"Really? Perhaps I should just kill you now, then. It would be easy."

"So do it," Nick jeered. "Put me out of my misery why don't you?"

The Courser laughed, a short, maniacal bark. "No, I don't think I'll let you off so easily. One last time, Valentine: where is the boy?"

"Fuck you."

"No… fuck _you_. You've been warned, my little Gen 2 friend. Now there's going to be consequences."

"There you go – threats again."

"Not a threat this time, Mr. Valentine. I'd hate to see someone you love get hurt. Wouldn't you?"

Nick sneered. "Someone I love? What's that supposed to mean? I'm a synth, remember? No heart. Just like you."

"Then it hardly matters, does it?" Nick felt a sudden blow, like a pair of hot needles jabbing into his neck. The world exploded into dazzling shards and he fell into darkness.

-OOO-

There was an open car and a long stretch of highway: flat, straight and wide, new asphalt shimmering black and smooth in the hot afternoon sun. He drove, one arm out the window, the sunshine beating down on him and the wind on his face. He pressed down on the gas pedal and a feeling like joy surged through him as the acceleration pushed him back into the seat cushions. The wind rose, buffeting him, the sound drowning out all others, like a kind of roaring silence, and on either side the endless lines of fence posts whipped into a blur.

There was a curve, suddenly, and the big car soared through it, hugging the road like a lover. He looked over at Ellie sitting in the passenger seat next to him. She was working on a crossword puzzle and having some difficulty keeping the pages from being whipped by the wind. Finally, catching him looking at her, she laughed and tossed the book into the back seat.

She said something, but the wind blew her words away. He tried to catch them but they slipped out of his fingers, disappearing into the sky like birds caught in a storm. There was a flash, like lightning, and the sound of thunder, and he was in a room all in white, filled with strange machines and people crowding around, peering at him from over their clipboards, barking questions at him and frowning at the answers. But Ellie was calling him again, only now she was sitting in the back seat with her teddy bear next to her, and she was frowning in concentration over a picture book, her small fingers tracing each letter as she tried to make out the words.

"Ellie," he called. He'd promised her he wouldn't put her in school until she caught up to the children her own age, but it was slow going some days. He tried to pull over so he could help her with her words, but the car was moving faster now, and the look of concentration on her face had been replaced by one of alarm. "Ellie," he called again, more urgently this time. "Ellie…!"

-OOO-

Nick sat bolt upright. There was a throbbing pain in his neck, like a burn, and his head was reeling. He stared in confusion at the dim shadows of the nursery shed. Then he remembered. He swore, scrambling to his feet and drawing his gun. He flung open the door and raced down the alley, bursting through the door into his office.

Piper Wright was standing in front of him. She had her gun out, holding it two-handed in a marksman's stance. Across the desk from her, the Courser held Ellie like a shield, his arm around her neck and a laser pistol pointed to her head. Her purse lay open on the floor, her little .38 half spilled out of it.

"Shoot him, Piper!" Ellie was snarling as Nick halted in the doorway. "Kill the bastard!" But the reporter half turned, startled at the sudden intrusion, and in that instant the Courser dropped his gun and snatched a device from his belt.

"Good-bye, Mr. Valentine," he laughed, thumbing a control on the device. Nick's jaw sagged in sudden recognition, and then there was an eye-searing flash and a roar like thunder, and the pair disappeared, leaving only the outline of their afterimages on his dazzled retinas to show where they'd been.

Piper stared, open-mouthed. "What the hell, Valentine? Who was that? Where did they go? More to the point, _how_ did they go?"

Nick blinked. "It was Lenny Breckenridge," he said slowly. "He died about a hundred years ago. Since then, I gather he's been working for the Institute."

"The Institute? Is that where they've gone? How do we find them?"

"I don't know. But I know someone who does." Nick reached his pack down from the hook by his desk and began hastily stuffing things into it. "Go find Danny Sullivan. Tell him what happened. Tell him I need the boy, Jeremy. And tell him to hurry."

"Where are you going?"

"To Arturo's. I'm gonna need a bigger gun."

-OOO-

"You cannot do this alone, Nick Valentine," Arturo said.

"The hell I can't."

Nick was busy slipping shells one after another into the loops on the belt he'd bought. He was alternating, buckshot and slugs. A pair of bandoliers over his shoulders held more, and on the counter in front of him lay a 12-gauge combat shotgun, its oiled surface gleaming softly in the morning sunlight, eight inches of razor-edged bayonet protruding out from beneath its barrel. "And besides, I'm not alone. I've got the kid, here." He jerked his thumb at Jeremy, who was holding a sawed-off shotgun as if it was about to come to life in his hands. "Better give me a couple of grenades, too," he added.

Arturo brought up a case of grenades and counted out six onto the counter. "I have a sale this week. Buy two, get four free. Listen, Nick. I am sure he is a fine young man, but in this case, he is a liability. That is why I am coming with you."

"And me. " Piper stepped up beside him. "Sorry I took so long, Nick. I had to get my gear." She leaned over the counter. "I'll take you up on that sale, Arturo. Better throw in all the 10 mm ammo you've got while you're at it."

"Well," said Nick slowly, looking around. News had spread quickly and a small, angry crowd had gathered. "That's mighty kind of you both, but I sort of feel like this is something I have to do on my own."

"Well, you're wrong." Cricket limped painfully through the crowd, supported on either side by her guards. She shrugged them off and stepped forward. "What kind of junk are you selling, Arturo? You want real hardware at good prices, Valentine, you should have come to me." She grabbed the counter for support. "I heard what happened. One of my boys will go with you. Billy's a better shot but Jimbo's considerably smarter. Take your pick."

"Me too, Nick," Danny Sullivan added, stepping forward. He was in civilian clothes. "Plus there's a few guys from my shift who'll come if you ask. Beddoes is rounding them up now."

"No one's going anywhere," a loud voice interrupted. The crowd parted and a large, red-faced man in a suit and tie pushed his way through. He was flanked by a pair of grim-faced security guards, with a small group from the Upper Stands, Diamond City's high-rent district, trailing behind.

"Mayor McDonough," Nick said. "What do you want?"

The mayor glowered at him. "Valentine, you can go wherever you want, and good riddance to you. But no one else is leaving Diamond city." He glared at the crowd. "Do you hear me?" he shouted. "This is a fool's errand. Even if you could find a way in, which I don't for a minute believe exists, do you know what will happen if you march up there? You'll all die, and the only thing you'll have accomplished is to bring the damned Institute down on all of our heads. Do you want that to happen? Any of you? To your friends, your families? Because I guarantee that the law-abiding citizens of this city do not, and we will take measures to ensure it does not happen."

The group behind him murmured their assent. McDonough continued. "Can't you tell Valentine is playing you, him and his Institute friends? He can't help it. He's a synth himself, and when push comes to shove, you know exactly where his real sympathies lie. And even if he wasn't, the risk to our community is still too great. No one from this city is going with him. I forbid it."

"On what authority, Mr. Mayor?" Piper called out, breaking the silence that followed. "I don't recall ever signing up to work for you, and as a private citizen, I'm pretty sure I can leave Diamond City any time I choose."

McDonough smiled maliciously. "I'll be happy to see you go, Miss Wright," he said, "and when you do, I'll order the gates shut behind you and you can go live in Goodneighbour. I've heard there's lots of work there for a woman with your talents. And as for you, Cricket," he added, "if you want to continue trading with Diamond City you'll do well to remember who is in charge around here. That goes for your thugs, too. Arturo – same for you. And you, Mr. Sullivan, why are you out of uniform?"

Danny Sullivan growled, stepping forward. Nick put out a hand to restrain him. "Forget it, Danny," he said quietly. "Leave it be. Guys like him are the reason Diamond City needs guys like you."

"But Nick –" Danny gestured helplessly.

"Forget it, I said. Look, folks," he added to the others. "The Mayor's right – a big crowd will just draw attention and get us all killed. There's going to be a day of reckoning with the Institute, one of these days. Right now, I just need to tippy-toe in there and fetch Ellie out. And the longer I stand here talking, the harder that's going to be."

Piper shot the Mayor a hard look. "This isn't finished, McDonough," she spat. "You've got an election coming up, and everyone reads the _Publick Occurrences_." She turned her back to him. "Good luck, Nick."

"Thanks, Piper." Nick shouldered his pack. It was heavy, weighted down with extra magazines for the shotgun and spare reloads for his revolver. "I'll give you first rights to the story when we get back."

It was a small group that escorted them to the gates, including Solomon, who dashed up at the last minute and pressed a bag into the detective's hands. "It's not much. A few combat chems, a couple stimpacks and a few tabs of my special mixture. Won't help you, but they'll give the kid a little extra crazy. Comes in handy sometimes. Just don't let him take too many. Sometimes the effect is permanent."

There was one last surprise waiting for them, just outside the gates: a small, black and orange cat that suddenly appeared, winding itself between Nick's legs.

"Hello, little one," he said, bending down to scratch her behind one ear. "You're looking better than the last time we met." She purred loudly, bumping her head repeatedly against his hand, then gathered herself and sprang up into the crook of his arm. Nick looked around expectantly as Deacon extricated himself from a shadowy corner.

"She likes you," Deacon called, coming over to scratch Harley on the top of her head.

"Can't imagine why," Nick told him. "I don't guess this is a coincidence, you being here."

"No such thing as coincidence," Deacon said. "I caught that business in the Market. It's a suicide mission you're on."

Nick shrugged. "I've been in tight spots before. And Jeremy here knows the place inside and out. We might surprise you."

Deacon nodded. "You might. Where exactly are you headed?"

Nick looked expectantly at Jeremy, who answered: "It's across the river. I don't know exactly where, but once we get close, I'll be able to find it. There's a sign on the front, it says 'M-A-G-D'. I don't know what that means"

"The old Magdalene House," Nick said, recognizing it immediately. "The Home for Unwed Mothers, they used to call it, before the War. A place to send girls who got pregnant without getting married first. Kind of a bizarre concept, nowadays. Didn't make much sense then, either. But I know exactly where it is."

"Look, Nick," Deacon said, "I hate to say this, but the Railroad can't help you. The risk of capture is too great. If an operative fell into Institute hands it could bring the whole thing down on our heads."

"I figured as much," Nick said. "Don't worry about it."

"Well, it makes me feel like a jerk, personally, but I have my orders." Deacon retrieved Harley and tucked her into his coat. She arranged herself there and closed her eyes, purring contentedly. "Of course," he added, "there's nothing saying I can't tag along with you for a while, or send a few heavies up ahead to clear the road. We can't go down inside, but we can make sure you get there in one piece and then help cover your retreat afterwards."

"Well, I'm much obliged to you."

Deacon cocked an eye skywards. The wind had risen again and there were dark clouds massing in the south and west.

"We'd better get on our way," he said. "There's a storm coming."

Nick smiled coldly. "You'd better believe it."

-OOO-


	13. The Vengeful Heart

It was in a room behind a room, hidden behind a concealed door in one wall of the partially-collapsed basement of the Magdalene Home. Invisible from the outside if you didn't know where to look. Once there, another door opened onto stairs leading down into a network of brick-lined passageways and rooms.

"They used to hide fugitives down here during the American Revolution," Nick said, remembering the plaque that once graced the front of the building. "After that it was escaped slaves, making their way up north."

Jeremy looked back over his shoulder. "Did they get caught?" he asked.

"Some of them. They even fought a war over it." Nick sighed. "Seems like we were always fighting a war over one thing or another."

Jeremy shone his light up ahead. "I think we're here," he said. "Now what?" The door was twice the height of a man, shaped like a wide-toothed cogwheel with the number "54" stencilled across the hub. There was a computer terminal beside it, but otherwise it was closed tight.

"One of the advantages of being a machine, working with machines, " Nick answered, taking a leather pouch from his inside pocket and opening it out on the floor. "We can talk to each other." Whistling softly to himself, he selected a screwdriver from his pouch which he used to unscrew an access panel on the terminal. He shone his flashlight inside.

"These things are all pretty much the same," he said. "There was one company that held most of the patents for electronics gear and they weren't big on innovation. Kind of sad when you think about it. All these years and the damned Institute can't even think up a new way to wire a security system." He took a long, thin cable from his pouch. Wiggling a finger in one ear, he pushed back a flap of synthetic skin and jacked the cable into a plug hidden behind it, wincing slightly as it went in. "I never really get used to this part," he added. The other end of the cable separated into a series of colour-coded alligator clips. Peering into the guts of the terminal, he reached inside to set a clip, then waited, cocking his head as if listening. Satisfied, he set the next one, then the others, one after another in quick succession. He waited for a moment.

"Okay," he said suddenly. "I'm in."

Jeremy looked around. "Nothing's happening," he said.

"That's because I haven't done anything yet. Now be quiet. I need to convince it I'm friendly."

"Or?"

Nick pointed. "Or there's a sentry robot behind that panel over there that's going to blow us into next Tuesday. Now hush."

-OOO-

Nick stood in the shadows and looked around. Things were pretty quiet here. He could see pulses moving lazily through the security system around him - automated queries travelling back and forth, asking the same question and getting the same answer each time. He stayed where they couldn't see him, timing the intervals. When he was satisfied he had the pattern memorized, he waited for the next one to go by then slipped in behind it, sending a tiny query of his own back up the line before stepping back into hiding. Just a little one, like a burglar peering through a window. The door terminal was limited in what it could tell him; it really only cared about the door. That's okay; at this point, that's all he cared about, too. There was also the sentry bot to worry about. He could see it there, glowering at the security calls as they travelled up and back, waiting hungrily for the countersign to fail and the alarm to go up so it could roll out of its pod and unleash its fury. Nick watched it carefully. The elegant answer would be to reprogram it. But he didn't have time for elegance. There was no way to actually cut the sentry out of the system without waking it up, which meant he'd have to slip in and out between security rounds.

The next security call trundled up the line, stopped and gave the password. There was a pause, then the countersign came as expected. It turned to go. He slipped out behind it again and sent another query, the faintest of things, slinking on cat feet back up the line. It bounced back almost right away. That was the encryption; the lock on the door. He could peek around the corner, but he couldn't step inside. But the burglar had his tricks, didn't he? Even with the encryption he could make out a trio of local connections which he guessed were automated turrets. And there was something else, something newer that was patched in across the old coding. A watcher, set by the Institute to keep an eye on its back door. It hadn't noticed him there in the shadows. Not yet.

Nick modified his query a little and sent it back again. There was a sensation like the tumbler of a lock slipping into place. He grinned to himself, waited for the security program to pass by again, then made another modification and sent it back the same way. It was just a guess. The goal here was to trick it into telling him more about itself. It was a good guess; two more tumblers clicked into place. That just left one. He tried again. Nothing this time. He cast a worried glance over at the sentry bot. Depending on how the thing was wired, blowing the encryption could also wake up the sentry. He wouldn't know until he could see past the encryption, and that wasn't going to happen until he got this lock open. He watched the impulses moving through the system, but there was nothing giving it away. It was either one or the other.

He picked one. And he got lucky, this time. The encryption slipped away and the sentry bot remained quiet in its pod. He could see the security structure clearly now: a locking mechanism with a password to deactivate the automated turrets and open the door, and hiding off in a corner, the Institute spy with its own connection leading off into the darkness, watching everything.

"It's all good," he told the spy. "Nothing to see here." In some ways, the spy was the easiest part, for its programming was similar to his own. He set the message to loop before carefully blinding the watcher so all it would see was a closed door. It was a crude fix, slapped on with duct tape. Anyone poking around in here would spot his handiwork right away. But until that happened, the little spy was harmless.

Poking around some more, he found another pair of nodes controlling the door from the inside. There was an Institute watcher there, too, ready to shout the alarm if the door opened from the inside. That explained how they'd been on the kids' tails so quickly. He gave this one the same treatment as the first.

Other than the automated systems, there was no way to tell what was happening on the other side of the door without opening it. There could be an army waiting there. But there was only one way to find out.

He pulled out of the system. "Got it," he said to Jeremy, carefully screwing the access panel back on before gathering his tools.

"That was fast."

"Time moves differently, in there." Nick straightened up. "You ready?"

The boy nodded, switching off the safety on his sawed-off shotgun. Nick waved him back to the other side of the door. Stepping back into cover himself, he keyed in the password that would deactivate the sentry guns on the other side and open the door. There'd be hell to pay if he'd made a mistake. But he hadn't. With a rumble and a hiss, the door recessed back into the wall and rolled away. Vault 54 was open.

-OOO-

The entrance hall was exactly as Jeremy had described it: a large, harshly lit room, roughly hewn out of the virgin rock and clearly at one time a natural cave. The door opened onto a narrow ledge fronting a steel platform. From it, a steel bridge extended over a natural crevasse that split the room in half. It looked like a long way down. High above them, three Constellation-class laser turrets covered the entryway. Pre-war, he noted. US army issue, circa 2077. On the other side there were pieces of heavy machinery and stacks of crates, and on the far wall the doors of a large freight elevator.

Nothing moved.

"You okay, kid?" Nick asked over his shoulder. Jeremy nodded again, his expression unreadable. "Good." Nick looked up at the laser turrets again. "Let's get out of here," he said, "I wouldn't give much for our chances if someone decides to tickle that security system and realizes we're here. "

They crossed the bridge to the service elevator. There was another computer terminal there next to the control panel, and Nick jacked into it as he had the first. It was the same set-up as before, including the watcher hiding in the shadows, and Nick dealt with it in the same way. There was a second watcher there, much older, that looked like part of the original Vault-Tec security system. It was cold, the line that fed it dark and lifeless. Nick ignored it.

With the system disarmed, he punched in the password and hit the elevator button. The lights dimmed slightly for an instant, then there was a deep, thrumming noise from below them and a light above the elevator doors switched on. Nick stepped back from the doors, motioning Jeremy to one side and hefting his shotgun. They waited as the seconds ticked slowly by. He licked his lips – out of habit rather than necessity – wishing he'd thought to set a mine in front of the doors and then watch from cover instead of out here in the open. It was the kind of mistake that got you killed. Too late now. He raised the shotgun and squinted down the barrel, noting out of the corner of his eye Jeremy taking the same stance.

After what seemed like forever, the control panel dinged and the elevator doors trundled open. It was empty.

Nick sagged in relief. Lowering his gun, he motioned Jeremy back while he examined the pattern of footprints in the dust. His and Eva's prints were easily discernible, standing close together near the front, facing the door. Their shoeprints were distinctive, both with the same, undifferentiated pattern as the ones Jeremy was wearing now. Several sets of fresh prints overlaid them: long and narrow, with three claw-like toes and oddly-patterned soles.

"Synths," Nick said, pointing. "Low-level patroller types. Four or five of them. And one other, see?" He bent down to examine them more carefully. "Human, I'd guess. A regular boot, anyway. And a big guy, too. I'm guessing this is our friend Lenny. But whoever they were, they didn't come back this way."

Nick had gotten Jeremy to describe the layout to him again on the way across to Cambridge. The elevator would open into the lower level of the intake area. There had been deactivated synth patrollers on the gallery overlooking it. No way of telling if they were still there, of course, or if they were awake now or not, but Nick was going in on the assumption the place was powered up and waiting for him. Also, there was the possibility of more sentry turrets to consider.

"Look, kid," he'd said as they travelled. "That sawed-off is lethal at close quarters. A real alley-clearer. Make sure you keep the butt grounded against your shoulder the way I showed you, because it's going to kick like a brahmin on psycho. But anything more than ten, twelve feet away, all you're going to do is make it mad at you. Plus you've only got two shots, so don't forget to re-load. Got it?"

"I won't forget."

"I mean it. Happens all the time. Make sure you don't forget."

"I said I got it. And this, too," Jeremy had patted Abernathy's .22 in its holster at his hip.

Nick had nodded. "That's a nice piece. It's got a good range, too, for a handgun. Aim for the middle of the chest and don't forget to aim a bit high if they're any distance away, to account for the drop. A headshot's more efficient but harder to make, so only do it if you're sure about it."

There was only one button in the elevator, and Nick stabbed at it. The lights flickered again as the doors hissed shut, closing with a thud. The car started downward, humming softly. It felt like a long time before it finally wheezed to a halt. Nick took cover on one side of the door, motioning for Jeremy to do the same on the other. The elevator grumbled to itself for a moment, shunting up and down to find its spot, then stopped. The doors slid smoothly open.

A group of patrollers, Institute synths, stood in front of them, arms at the ready. Nick fired reflexively, the heavy shotgun booming in the small space, kicking like a live thing against his shoulder, the muzzle flash lighting up the shadows beyond. Beside him he heard a roar as Jeremy let go with both barrels at once. A patroller's head exploded in a cloud of plastic and metal, sparks flaring, while beside it the one Nick had shot spun and fell, one leg torn off. He fired again, taking the next one in the body while beside him Jeremy cursed as he clumsily reloaded, dropping shells on the floor in his haste. Nick fired again, taking the head off the one he'd just shot, then swung around to pump two more shells into the one at the far end. Jeremy snapped the breech of his weapon closed then fired both barrels in quick succession, and a fifth patroller spun and fell clattering to the ground.

"Hold up, hold up!" Nick shouted, lowering his shotgun. Jeremy, struggling to reload again, stopped and glared at him in wild-eyed surprise, the crash of the guns still echoing in the darkness beyond.

"Look." Nick pointed. The remaining synths stood frozen, weapons cradled in attitudes of menace but otherwise motionless. Their eyes were dark. Motioning Jeremy back behind him, Nick moved closer, his gun trained on the nearest synth. It didn't move. Reversing his weapon, he shoved it hard with the butt, and watched as it swayed, then toppled, crashing loudly to the floor.

"They're deactivated," Jeremy said. "Like they were when we came through before. But they weren't here, then."

"They've moved in the meantime," Nick said. "Look at all the tracks. You triggered an alarm when you left the Vault. Maybe earlier, too. It must have activated them."

"But why shut them down?"

"That's a good question." He touched the nearest one and found it to be still warm. "Not very long ago, either, I'd say." He looked past the frozen patrollers into the space beyond. In the shadowy light he could see that it was as Jeremy had described: a wide, high-ceilinged room with cages along each wall and large bins near one end. An upper-level gallery wrapped around all four walls. There were more patrollers up there, standing rigidly at attention, weapons shouldered, their eyes dark.

Nick put a finger to his lips and slipped out. The dust on the floor had been recently disturbed, with multiple sets of tracks crossing back and forth, all leading eventually to a set of large double doors immediately opposite. There had been a flurry of movement here in the last few days. But not now. Scanning the gallery, Nick could see no hint of motion among the watchers above. No eyes flaring to life, no whirring of motors or clicking of relays, no guns swivelling to cover them or belching out streams of deadly fire in their direction. It was the silence of the tomb.

"This is all wrong," Nick said.

Jeremy looked around. "Looks quiet to me."

"That's what I mean." Nick hefted his shotgun and adjusted his hat. "Where do we go from here?"

Jeremy led them across the intake chamber to a small door on the far side, in one corner away from the main doors. "We came through here, " he said. "It leads down to the medical level."

Nick eased the door open slightly and glanced inside. Stairs led downwards into the darkness. He risked a light. The stairwell was empty. "Let's go," he said, then stopped. "No, wait. The clothes you were wearing – your Institute togs. What did you do with them?

Jeremy motioned with his chin. "In the bin where we found the other stuff."

"Change back into them. A little protective colouration might convince people to ask first and shoot later." Jeremy nodded, then slipped back across the floor to where the bins were, returning with both his and Eva's jumpsuits, which Nick slipped into his pack. It was a bit too small for Ellie, but might pass inspection at a distance. He hoped.

"Mr. Valentine," Jeremy said, struggling with a zipper.

"Nick. Call me Nick. Or 'Valentine' if you feel like being formal."

"Okay, then. Nick. What's your plan?"

"Plan for what?"

"To find your friend."

Nick laughed. "Tell you the truth, kid, I'm making it up as we go along."

"That's not much of a plan."

The detective shrugged. "It's the best I've got."

Jeremy stopped suddenly. "How do you know you can trust me? I could be leading you into a trap."

Nick looked sideways at him. "Institute killed your girlfriend. I figure I can trust you."

"Can you? It was my home, all my life. It's hard for me to think of it as my enemy." Jeremy picked up his shotgun from where he'd leaned it against. "Could I really use this against Toby Marshall? Or Mr. Kennedy? He's a chief in security. He used to put on puppet shows. St. George and the Dragon. Little Red Riding Hood. You name it. Hallowe'en, he'd give out hand-made toys. I couldn't use this on him. How could I?"

Nick grimaced. "It's not going to come to that, I hope." He paused. "Look, Jeremy… McDonough was right about one thing: we can't fight the whole Institute. The only way this is going to work is if we can sneak in quietly, find Ellie, then sneak out again. If I can find a terminal that links into the mainframe, there's a chance I can find where they're holding her. Then all we need to do is get there without them seeing us. That's where you come in."

"That's definitely not much of a plan."

"You're right. It isn't. But it's like you said, people see what they expect to see. They see you in that jumpsuit, walking with a Gen 2, what could be more normal?"

"Not many Institute synths wear trench coats and carry shotguns."

"Well, we'll burn that bridge when we get to it. We've got a better chance than you might think. Better than Plan B, anyway."

"Which is?"

"Arturo had a micro-nuke. It's in my backpack. Amazing, the kind of edge that sort of thing gives you in a negotiation."

Jeremy shook his head. "What if we can't find out where she is?"

Nick grunted. "Plan B it is, then." He turned to the boy. "Kid… Even if we manage to keep from bringing the whole damned Institute down on top of us, our chances of getting in and out in one piece are slim. Hell, there's no guarantee that Ellie was even brought here, or if she was, that she's still alive."

"And if she isn't? What will you do?"

Nick smiled humourlessly and patted the bulge where the micro-nuke rode. "That's Plan C," he said.

They passed another group of patrollers stopped in the middle of a corridor. One had fallen on its face, frozen in the instant of stepping forward. Nick considered stopping to disable them, then changed his mind. It would take time they didn't have.

"It's really about Plan C, isn't it?" Jeremy finally said, skirting the fallen synth.

Nick nodded. "Probably." He looked at the boy. "Even if we're not walking straight into a trap, the Mayor was right about that, too: this is a fool's errand. But it doesn't have to take both of us down. I just need you to stay with me until we get to the Overseer's office and figure out where Ellie is. If you want out after that, I'll understand."

"I won't desert you, Nick."

"Don't be a damned fool. You don't owe me anything."

The look Jeremy gave Nick was cold and empty. "Someone here killed Eva," he said tonelessly. "You're the only chance I have to find out who."

Nick didn't answer. He opened the stairwell door and together they started down.

It was the same everywhere. Footprints throughout, with here and there synth patrollers in ones and twos, mostly, either frozen in their tracks or standing at attention. Otherwise, Vault 54 was still powered down, as it had been when Eva and Jeremy came through the first time.

Jeremy led them down another flight of stairs and through a set of doors leading into the nursery where they'd found their birth records. "It seems like a hundred years ago we came through here," he said. There was a handprint in the dust on top of one of the filing cabinets and he laid his own, larger, hand over top of it, resting it there for a moment before continuing on.

"What is she to you?" Jeremy asked. "Ellie. She's your secretary, I know. But besides that."

"I took her in when she was little," Nick said. "Girl needed a home. I gave it to her."

"But you don't … love her? Do you? You can't. I've been around synths my whole life. You're not wired that way. It's like asking if you have a soul."

"Huh," Nick grunted. "Well, let's just say I made a promise."

They had finally reached the gallery leading out over the detention block. Nick led the way. It was deeply shadowed, lit only by the two lamps, one at each end of the lower level. Looking down, he could see the Protectrons in their pods, their ready lights flashing inactive. Nick listened for a moment, looking around carefully, before turning on his flashlight. He played the beam along the floor of the gallery as well as the railing overlooking the detention level. There were tracks everywhere, the claw-footed, three-toed marks of the synth patrollers they'd seen before. And something different.

"Look at this," he said, holding his beam steady on a patch of floor close to the railing where a heavy boot print showed clearly in the dust.

"Same as before?" Jeremy asked.

Nick knelt down to examine it more closely. The tracks were partly obscured by the marks of patrollers winding back and forth on security sweeps, but once you knew they were there, they were easily found.

"They're coming from your Overseer's office," he said, pointing up at the row of windows overlooking the other end of the detention level. He flicked off his light and put it back into his pocket. "The prints all point away from it, but I suppose that doesn't mean anything." He checked the load on his shotgun then shrugged off his pack and transferred a couple flash-bangs to the pocket of his trench coat to join the pair of fragmentation grenades he already had there. Between them, the shotgun and ammunition, and the .45 in his shoulder holster, he felt uncomfortably weighted down. He passed Jeremy his pack. "You better carry this," he said. "It's heavy, but it's easier for me to get at stuff if it's on your back instead of mine."

They made their way quickly along the edge of the gallery, slipping from shadow to shadow and making as little noise as possible. The boy moved well, Nick thought. The windows of the Overseer's office were darkened and there was no sign of movement behind them. They ran the full length of the office and wrapped around on both sides, providing a clear view of both sides of the gallery and the detention level below it. The office itself sat somewhat above the gallery level, with a short flight of stairs leading up to the door.

Nick stayed in the darkest part of the shadow and scanned the room. Jeremy opened his mouth to say something and Nick put a finger to his lips. "Shhhh," he said, listening intently. Finally he led the way up the stairs to the door. He stopped there, listening again, then tried the knob. It was unlocked. He looked over at Jeremy. The boy nodded, and Nick twisted the knob and thrust the door open, simultaneously levelling the shotgun.

The room was untenanted. Through the faint light coming in through the oversized windows, Nick could see the Overseer's large, semi-circular desk that dominated the centre of the room. There was a faint glow from the computer screen sitting atop it, in the bottom corner of which a small, green, cursor was blinking on and off.

"That screen wasn't lit like that before," Jeremy said.

Nick nodded. He switched on his flash again, taking care to keep the light shielded. The dust was much lighter here than outside, but he could still make out some footprints, mostly Jeremy and Eva's. The heavy boot prints were here, too, and they were more recent, laid over top of the others. They came from the Overseer's workstation and made a beeline for the door through which Nick and Jeremy had just entered.

"Cover me," Nick mouthed. He approached the workstation, acutely aware of how difficult it would be to spot anyone hidden in a stealth field in this dimly-lit place. The Overseer's wheeled chair was pushed back somewhat from the desk and the trail of prints seemed to begin from immediately in front of it, as if whoever owned them had simply appeared there. Which, he thought, remembering the scene in his office in Diamond City, they probably had.

Straightening up, he examined the computer terminal. There was an access panel on one side, which he unscrewed. Hooking up his patch cord, he went to work.

-OOO-

He almost missed the first watcher, positioned where it could see a wide swath of the network leading off from this terminal. Luckily for Nick, its attention was pointed elsewhere at that moment and he hastily slipped farther back into the shadows, behind a maze of tangled pathways. He watched the watcher for long enough to determine that it couldn't see him there, even if it turned his way, then set to work.

There was far more traffic through here than had been the case at the door. It was hard to tell what was going on, exactly. The encryption was more complex, too, and there were several layers of permissions to navigate through. Where before he'd been a burglar with one foot in the door, peering around a corner, now he was standing outside looking in through a very small, very dirty, window.

Still… On a hunch, he tried the password that had worked on the outside door. It failed, but he caught an echo coming back up the line. Recognition, a bit of confusion, then ultimately refusal. So he was close. A complex password, then, longer than the original by several characters, but containing elements of it. A lazy man's password.

He tickled it again, adding additional characters. A shutout program came along and sniffed at him. Too many unsuccessful tries and it would close the terminal down and call for help. That would be bad. He examined it more closely, looking for a weakness. And found one. There was a back door, a tiny, hidden, thing like a virtual access hatch leading into its guts. It was the kind of thing a programmer might build to let him get in and out easily. Now it served Nick's purposes. Checking first to make sure it wouldn't trigger an alarm, he flipped the hatch open and disarmed the shutout. Now he had unlimited tries, and he simply set up an algorithm based on common letter patterns and fired them one after another at the encryption. In a moment, he was through. The window was open.

Sneaking a quick look through it, he considered his next move. The problem was the watcher. The other watcher, by the vault doors, had been very basic: staring at a spot, prepared to sing out if anything about that spot changed. This one was considerably smarter, and he could see the constant flow of information as it reported back to some unseen central site. There was no chance it was going to be fooled by a simple still frame, and there was no way to get by that didn't involve crossing directly in front of it. He'd have to make himself invisible, and to do this he needed to create a blind spot: a bit of misdirection that would cause the watcher to look right past him. It was the kind of thing stage magicians had been doing since the beginning of time, and while the actual coding was a bit tricky, the concept itself was dead simple. In a moment it was complete. Wrapping himself in it like an invisibility cloak, he reached in through the window and turned the knob, opening the door. Now he could step inside and wander around unnoticed.

Most of the network connections on the Vault side were quiet. Many were ancient, dating from Vault Tec days, and long dead. The maintenance and security systems pulsed quietly to themselves, not active but not completely shut down, either, and Nick could see that a number of security protocols had been triggered recently. To his amusement, he realized that he could reactivate the patrollers from here if he wanted. But there didn't seem to be any way to control them after that. By accident he stumbled across an indexing subroutine that brought up layer upon layer of encrypted data files relating to the Genetic Diversity Program, with dates going all the way back to the very beginning, and even before that: files using Vault-Tec naming protocols. He considered starting a download, but the encryption was tight and it would take time he didn't have. Every minute took Ellie farther from him. And he'd made a promise. Unbidden, memory came.

-OOO-

It was loud in the Third Rail. A comedian had just been booed off the stage and a band was warming up, doing their sound checks and fiddling with their tuning. Annie was standing at the bar, talking to the owner, Whitechapel Charlie.

"C'mon, Charlie," she whined, shivering, "you know I'm good for it."

"I don't know nuffink of the sort," Charlie answered from around his cigar. "If you ain't got caps, I don't know you. Now get your sorry ass outta my bar."

"Mama? I'm hungry." The child standing beside Annie looked up, wide-eyed, her face pinched and pale.

Annie motioned to her. "See, Charlie? I need food for the kid. Look at her. She's starving." Annie's voice was slurred, her breath reeking of cheap whiskey, and she weaved slightly where she stood, holding onto the bartop for support.

"That's rich," Charlie laughed. "When was the last time you got a cap that didn't find its way into a vein or up your nose? Here, I'll make you a deal. Fifty caps for the kid. I'll even throw in a couple tubes of Jet. Free and clear. Then you get out of my place and never come back."

"Mama!"

Annie recoiled. "How dare you!" she said thickly. "She's my own flesh and blood. Look at her. She's only a child."

Charlie leaned over the bar. "How long since your last fix, Annie? Been a while, hasn't it? Starting to feel a little queasy, I expect? I hear the boys don't come your way so much anymore. Money's a little tight these days, I hear. A hundred caps and that's my final offer."

"Mama, don't." The girl looked panicked.

Annie cuffed her . "Bobbi No Nose would give me twice that," she sneered. She took a fistful of the girl's hair and yanked her head back. "She's a beauty, she is. Just like her mama. A virgin, too. In all ways. There's lots in here would pay a hundred caps just for one go with her. I could get rich off her, I could. But I ain't gonna. You know why? Cause she's my daughter, that's why. Family. I wouldn't sell her to you or anyone. Not for anything."

Charlie sneered. "Really?" He snapped his fingers and a tall, burly, type in a pinstripe suit and fedora hat slouched over. "Danby … go back to the vault and count out five hundred caps for Annie. Then take the girl up to my room. And keep an eye on her. I don't want her running off."

"Mama, no. Don't let him!" The child struggled as her mother did the math. A calculating look came into the woman's eyes and she smiled, cold and thin.

"Charlie, you drive a hard bargain," she said.

"That's enough of that," a new voice said from behind her.

"Nick Valentine." Annie looked up apprehensively as the detective stepped up beside her. "What do you want here? This has nothing to do with you."

"The hell it doesn't." He slapped down a handful of caps on the bar. "Whiskey, Charlie. And something to eat for the kid."

"We've got a deal going here, Valentine," Charlie hissed. "Butt out." He jerked his head at Danby, who stepped over.

"Look here, Mr. Valentine –" the bruiser started. Nick reached out, grabbed him around the throat and lifted. Servos whined in protest as Danby's feet left the floor. The doorman gasped once, then fell silent, his face purpling and his feet kicking. With his other hand, Nick drew a pistol from beneath his trench coat and pointed it at Whitechapel Charlie.

"It'd be too bad to see the Rail come under new management," he said.

"Pull that trigger and you won't live to make it outside," Charlie spat.

Nick grinned mirthlessly. "Maybe. Maybe not. Sad that you won't be here to find out." He thumbed back the hammer. A silence had fallen over the bar.

"What the hell is this to you anyway?" Charlie yelped.

"Let's just say I don't like people pimping out ten-year olds."

Charlie looked aggrieved. "You know the kid's going to follow in her mother's footsteps, right? Today, tomorrow, a year from now. It doesn't matter. Sooner or later, she'll be just another whore with a needle in her arm."

"Maybe. Maybe not. "

"Can you at least put Danby down before he expires? I promised his mother I'd take care of him."

"Sure." Nick let the now-unconscious doorman fall to the floor. Then his hand shot out to take Charlie by the neck. The barman writhed, gasping in pain, his voice choked off. "Here's the deal," Nick said quietly, shoving his face into Charlie's. "I come back here to Goodneighbour, I can't find the child – " he turned his head. "What's your name, girl?"

"Ellie," she snuffled.

Nick turned back to Charlie. "I come here and I can't find Ellie, or I find her flat-backing out of a room somewhere, or working for Bobbi. Or huffing Jet. Or dead. Anything but being a happy, normal, ten-year old, then I'll come down here and put a bullet through your brain. Except I'll start with your kneecaps. Are we clear?"

Charlie' eyes were bugged out and his mouth was working silently. Nick released pressure slightly. "Are we clear?" he repeated.

"But – but … I can't control that. The shit Annie's into, anything could happen to the girl."

Nick's yellow eyes brightened, boring into Whitechapel Charlie's watery blue ones. "I guess you'd better be on your toes, then."

He let Charlie go. The barman stepped backwards, coughing wheezily and massaging his throat. He looked reproachfully at the detective. "You know what this means," he said, pointing at Annie. "That bitch will ride this for all it's worth."

Nick shrugged. "Not my problem."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Dammit, this makes us even, Valentine."

"Fine." Nick looked down at the girl. "Ellie. That's a nice name," he said. He dropped down to one knee in front of her. "Look, kid – I'm Nick Valentine. From Diamond City."

"You look like a robot," she said, touching his face.

"Well, I'm that, too, sort of. But I'm also a detective. That means I help people. So if you ever need help, you just send word and I'll come. Okay?" The girl nodded. "Good." He tousled her hair and stood up. Turning to Annie he said: "I'll be back in a couple days, likely. And from time to time after that. To check up on things." He paused. "Take care of her, Annie. I mean that. You'll regret it if you don't."

"I hope you die, Valentine."

"People keep saying that. But still, here I am." He tipped his hat at her. "See you soon." Stepping over the unconscious Danby, Nick holstered his pistol and walked out.

-OOO-

Nick shook his head to clear the memory. Looking around, he noticed a space where the file encryptions had been removed – blasted away, literally. There were only a couple files here and he pulled them down, scanning them quickly. He raised his eyebrows at what he saw, then pocketed them for later.

This was all irrelevant, anyway. If Ellie was anywhere, she'd be in the Institute itself and so that was where he needed to go. Cracking the encryption had revealed the location of the door to the Institute, the one the kids had used, along with the surprising revelation that it was unknown to the Institute. Or at any rate, someone had carefully arranged so that it could not be seen from the Institute side. But all that gave him was physical access. It still didn't tell him where Ellie was.

He looked back to make sure the watcher was still happily ignoring him. It was. At the same time, he was dimly aware of the Overseer's office around him and of Jeremy beside the desk. He had his mouth open, probably starting to say something. But for Nick, it would be some time before the words came out, so he ignored him.

What he needed was an open line into the Institute mainframe. After a painstaking search, he finally had to admit there wasn't one. There was an email system, but it was strictly local and the most recent traffic was twenty years old. He had been able to find controls for the laser turrets in the entrance hall, which he disabled. But as far as he could tell, everything running into the Institute itself was locked down behind an unbreakable firewall. There was no way in.

"… we came through is over there somewhere," Jeremy was saying as Nick unjacked from the terminal. He was pointing at the wall.

"Yeah, I found it," Nick said, putting away his equipment. "There's a pressure plate hidden inside one of the desk drawers. Someone went to some trouble to keep the back door into the Institute a secret. I wonder why?"

"How about Ellie? Did you find her?"

"No luck. I can't get into the Institute computers from here. Which means going in blind and hoping we can find an unattended terminal I can hack into without getting caught. That's where you come in, I guess." Nick had a drawer open and was feeling around inside for the switch. "Here we go," he said, pressing down. There was a slight hum, and then without warning a circle of flooring in front of the Overseer's chair dropped down and grated aside, revealing the rungs of a ladder leading into the darkness below. There was a moment of silence, then a frightened voice came up to them.

"Who's there? Nick? Is that you?"

It was Ellie.

-OOO-

[Author's Note: This was supposed to be the final chapter! Turns out we have one more to go. Alert readers will have noticed more canon divergence here, particularly in the person of Whitechapel Charlie, who in the game is a robot flying around on a cushion of fusion flame. In real life, of course, this would set the entire bar on fire the moment you fired it up.

My thanks to those of you who have made it this far, and my apologies for the long wait since Chapter 12. Spring arrived, and then summer, the seasons where gardening, working in the yard and sipping wine on the terrace take precedence. But fall is nearly here, and I expect to get back to regular writing and wrap this up shortly.]


	14. The Beautiful Heart

"Ellie?" Nick called down into the darkness.

"Nick?" Her voice was shrill with barely-controlled hysteria. "Is that you? Is it really you? He's got me tied down. I can't get loose. Please, hurry."

"Keep a look out," Nick said to Jeremy, turning to lower himself through the hatch. Then he stopped. "Ellie," he said. "What's your mother's name?"

"My what?"

"Your mother. What's her name?"

She laughed, high and ragged. "Annie. My mother's name was Annie. For the love of God, Nick, please get me out of here."

Nick swung around and dropped through the hatch, sliding down the ladder to land with a thud on the floor below. He drew the .45 from the holster under his arm, at the same time fumbling the flashlight from his pocket and switching it on.

There was a table in the middle of the room, old and heavy, the wood scarred and stained, and on it was Ellie, chained by shackles at wrists and ankles. She was naked. A sheen of sweat glistened on her body in the light of the flash, and her eyes were wide with panic. Nick swung the beam quickly around the room. It was a temple of depravity to make Solomon's party room look like a child's kindergarten. Tools gleamed in racks along the bare concrete walls: sharp, cruel, things, designed to cut and pierce, to crush and bind, to penetrate and stretch. Heat poured off a brazier hulking squat and ugly in one corner, and lashes – of knotted leather, rope and wire, hung from hooks next to it. Worst were the pictures that hung there: images of women in unrelenting agony, victims of the beast who'd made this room a shrine to his murderous lust.

Nick shuddered as he turned his attention back to Ellie, crossing the room in two long strides. She was babbling in her relief at seeing him. "Ellie!" he said. "Are you alright? Did he -?"

She shook her head. "No. Not yet. Nick, you have to hurry. He's only been gone a few minutes."

Nick found a light switch and flicked it on. He winced anew at the images on the walls. In one corner of the room was low dais, just large enough for someone to stand on.

"What is that?" he said, pointing.

"It's how he gets in and out. A transport pad, or something. It's how he brought me here. I don't even know where 'here' is. "

"It's an old Vault Tec vault, part of the Institute now. " The shackles were of metal – heavy steel handcuffs welded to a short length of chain attached to the corners of the table. They were ratcheted cruelly tight, the cuffs cutting into her skin. And they were locked.

"Nick, I can't feel my hands or feet," she said.

"I figured as much. We're going to have to get these open or you won't be able to walk. Means I'll have to pick the locks."

He started with her ankles. The cuffs there were clean and bright, the locks well oiled, and they yielded easily to his lock pick. Ellie gasped in pain as circulation began to return.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"Long story," Nick grunted, probing at the lock on one wrist. "Our old pal Lenny Breckenridge. That's who grabbed you. Turns out he's been roaming around the Commonwealth rounding up women to help keep the Institute's gene pool healthy."

"I don't think that's why I'm here."

"No. It turns out Lenny has a particular fondness for brunettes." He gave a twist and the lock snicked open. That left just one. But this one was stained and rusted, the mechanism stiff and unyielding. He could feel the pick bending against the pins inside as he worked at it. He adjusted his angle and tried again, then cursed as the pick broke.

"Nick, hurry." Ellie was staring at the transport pad behind him. Sweat beaded her forehead, and the hysterical tone was creeping back into her voice.

He poured penetrating oil into the lock, then tapped it with the butt of his gun to loosen the rust. Ellie was breathing faster and she was yanking at the remaining chain holding her to the table.

"Stop moving," Nick ordered.

"He could come back any second!"

"Working as fast as I can." He closed his eyes, letting his fingers concentrate on what was going on inside the lock. He felt the pins move slightly, sliding up into their bed. Emboldened, he twisted harder. Something jammed, and the pick snapped off in his hand. He snarled in frustration and reached for his last one.

"Nick!" Jeremy shouted from above. "Something's happening! I think we're out of time."

Nick swore again. "We're coming," he called back. He turned to Ellie. "Hold still." He pulled the chain tight and held the muzzle of his revolver against it and pulled the trigger. The gun roared, jerking in his hand, and the chain parted. Ellie rolled over and sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the table. She stood up, swaying dizzily as the blood rushed from her head.

"Can you walk?"

"I think so." She held the table for support and looked down at herself, then looked at Nick and blushed. "I need my clothes"

He picked them up from where they lay tossed in a corner. She dressed awkwardly, her left hand numb and clumsy from lack of circulation, and in the end Nick had to help her. Then he boosted her up the ladder and followed her up.

Jeremy was in a panic. Through the window, Nick could see movement in the detention block below. The pods housing the Protectrons were open and lights were flashing on their chest panels as they started to move. Suddenly, one after another, banks of ceiling lights began to come on.

"Run," Nick said, handing Ellie his revolver.

They bolted out the door and down the stairs to the gallery overlooking the detention block, hugging the wall as far from the Protectrons as possible. The entire area was fully lit by now and, somewhere a siren began a long, keening wail. The Protectrons were rumbling out of their pods into the open area below them, moving ponderously on their heavy treads. Red warning lights began flashing from their upper instrument clusters.

"Return to your cells," they ordered in their harsh, mechanical voices. "All prisoners will return to their cells immediately."

"Maybe they won't see us," Jeremy gasped from behind Ellie.

"Don't count on it." Just as Nick said that, one of them turned their way, its search beam outlining them in dazzling light.

"Halt!" The Protectron ordered in its robotic voice. "Halt or I will fire." It raised one arm and Nick altered course reflexively. A bolt of laser fire lanced out, splashing across the space where he'd been. He jinked again, yanking a grenade from his pocket, arming and throwing it in one motion. Behind him he heard Jeremy's shotgun roar – uselessly, from this range – and the crash of Ellie's .45 as she snapped off a shot. Nick felt a wave of heat behind him as another laser bolt lanced up, barely missing him, then the grenade detonated and the searchlight went out, to be replaced almost immediately by two more. But by then they'd reached the door at the far end and were through into the stairwell beyond. They held up, panting.

"Now where?" Ellie asked.

"Down there," Nick said, pointing. "We cut through the detention block then through the doors into a hallway that leads to the nursery. There's stairs there that will take us out."

"But that means going through the Protectrons," Jeremy said.

"You know a better way?" Nick demanded. Jeremy shook his head. "Protectrons it is, then. And we'll have to hurry. There were patrollers there. If they're awake too, we'll have to fight our way through them."

He led the way, his shotgun cradled in one arm and a grenade in the other hand. He listened for a moment at the door at the bottom of the stairs then slipped it open a crack and looked through. One Protectron was down. The other three were milling about. He armed the grenade and held it for a second, then lofted it out to roll under the treads of the nearest one. There was a flash and a bang as he yanked the door closed, then he threw it back open and they raced out. The Protectron was on its side, its treads a mangled mass of smoking metal. It was shrieking and buzzing, its arms flailing uselessly.

That left two.

They stayed close to the wall, making for the double doors leading out of the detention block. For a moment, Nick had a horrible thought that the doors might have sealed automatically when the alarms went off. But they were open, and in an instant the three were through.

The lights were on here as well. "Look out!" Nick called, throwing himself aside as a synth patroller reared clumsily up from where it had been lying. He swung his shotgun at it, clubbing it back down to the ground then stabbing with his bayonet, ripping through its chest armour and tearing open its main circulatory pump. The patroller shrieked like a steam whistle going off, jerking as Nick twisted the blade to free it, then fell limp, its eyes darkening.

Beyond it five more stood frozen in formation, their eyes just now flickering to life as their systems slowly powered up. Unlike the Protectrons, which were designed to be in a constant state of semi-wakefulness, the synths had been in full shut down. But the seconds were slipping away. Nick thumbed his shotgun to full auto and opened up, feeling the butt hammer repeatedly into his shoulder as the shells exploded out of it, mowing down the awakening synths.

"Protectrons coming!" Jeremy shouted from behind him, letting go with both barrels as the double doors flew open. The lead Protectron was utterly disabled, grinding to a halt in a shower of sparks, but the one behind it kept coming. Ellie shrieked and flinched as it fired its laser, narrowly missing her, then stood her ground, holding her gun two-handed and firing two deliberate shots from point blank. The heavy slugs tore into its weapons cluster, shattering it. The Protectron kept moving, barrelling its mate aside and swinging its heavy arms like clubs. Jeremy stepped to one side to let it pass him as Ellie fired again, then with all the force he could muster brought the barrel of his sawed-off down on its transparent upper torso, where its braincase was. Glass shattered and sparks popped, and there was a whiff of chemical smoke. The Protectron stopped and let out a shrill scream, then began spinning in place, faster and faster, its treads clattering against the concrete floor.

"This way," Nick shouted, popping out his empty magazine and slapping in a full one. He led them down to the viewing gallery fronting the nursery. The hallway here opened out on either side to run the full length of the nursery, and Nick swung left as he passed the corner, pumping two quick shots into the patroller standing there. It had been raising its weapon. From now on, anything they met would be fully awake.

"Things are gonna get hot," he warned, throwing open the nursery doors and racing past the filing cabinets and the nurses' station to the exit door in the far corner of the room. He flung open the heavy door, then leaped back as a bolt of searing energy filled the landing beyond and boiled out around him. "Christ!" he yelled, slamming the door shut and slapping at his burning clothes. "It's the sentry bot. How did it get here so fast?" He threw the bolt. "Help me here," he shouted. "We need to barricade this door." Ellie and Jeremy threw their weight against the nearest filing cabinet and wrestled it against the door, toppling it over on its side in front of it while Nick wrapped his arms around the other one and lifted it bodily, the servo motors in his back and legs screaming at the strain. He heaved it across the room then tipped it over against the door at an angle, wedging it in place.

"What now?" Ellie asked.

"We go back the way we came, " Nick said. "There has to be another way out." He looked at Jeremy.

The boy shook his head. "This is the way we came. I don't know any other way."

Nick flinched as fire poured out from underneath the door, oily flames wreathing around the filing cabinets. Flames licked out of them as the contents caught fire, and a pungent smoke began to fill the room. There was a boom as something large and heavy smashed into the door from the other side. Metal screeched as the door buckled, bending inward at the top.

"Those things are practically unstoppable," Nick said. "We've got to move. Wait, hold still." He spun Jeremy around and pawed through the backpack. There were two anti-personnel mines in there, nasty little things designed to send a cloud of metal fragments up into the vital organs of anyone stepping on them. He'd meant to leave them on Breckenridge's transport pad, but there'd no time. He armed them and set them just inside the door. "Okay, let's go."

"Where?" Jeremy said.

"Back upstairs. Gotta find another way out of here." There was another boom as the sentry bot smashed into the door again. The filing cabinets pushed back a few inches, metal screeching against the concrete floor.

He led off. The brain-damaged Protectron was still spinning in circles, screaming its distress by the outer doors, but other than that, nothing moved. They cut through the detention block and went back up the stairs to the gallery level where another set of double doors, twins to the ones below it, led away. There was movement at the far end, and a laser flashed, charring the wall next to them.

"Run!" Nick shouted. They could hear the heavy pounding of metallic feet as a group of patrollers bore down on them. A volley of hastily-aimed laser bolts splashed the concrete walls behind them as they crashed through the doors into the upper hallway.

The hallway was wide and brightly lit, with doors on either side. "All the way to the end," Nick called, envisioning the layout of the medical wing below them. "If there's a stairwell exit, it has to be there."

"And if there isn't?"

"Then it's been nice knowing you."

They raced to the end, passing closed doors on either side. There was no obvious exit, and the hallway dead-ended at a pair of lavatories. Nick swore and led them back the way they came. There was a brief firefight when three patrollers came boiling out of a door marked "Administration". It ended with the patrollers dead and Jeremy staring in horror at the charred stump where his right hand had been. Nick slapped a stimpack on it and fed him two of Solomon's pills for good measure. That seemed to shock some life back into him. The sawed-off shotgun was a twisted mass of melted steel, so Jeremy drew Abernathy's target pistol instead, holding it awkwardly in his left hand. Behind him, Ellie retched at the smell of cooked meat.

Nick poked his head into the room the patrollers had been in. Chest high cubicles lined both walls, each with a desk and typewriter. At the far end was a control station with instrument screens and a computer terminal. A faded poster on one wall declared: "Work Will Set You Free." There was no other door.

"Across the hall!" Nick ordered.

"Too late," Ellie called out from behind him. "Company!" He turned to see a squad of patrollers pouring into the hallway. Cursing he hustled the others into the room, slamming the door and throwing the bolt as shots splayed off the frame. A blast took him in the back just as the door closed, catching him high on the left side, burning through his jacket and skin and striking off the metal cage enclosing his upper torso. His internal temperature soared, circulatory fluid flash-heated to the boiling point. Nick reeled, his vision darkening as a bank of command-and-control circuits blew. The glow in his eyes flickered, and he felt himself beginning to fall.

"Nick, what's happening?" Ellie caught him as he stumbled. He held on to her, desperately shunting his control functions into an auxiliary system. That was enough to keep him conscious, but only barely. There was a high-pitched whine from his lower abdomen as emergency cooling systems kicked in, then a shudder like a shot of adrenaline as damage control circuits activated, drawing energy from his reserves and pouring it into his critical systems.

He shook his head. "Ssstmfayloor…" he slurred, his voice clicking and popping. He swallowed hard then leaned over and vomited a stream of superheated fluid onto the floor, where it steamed and boiled. He straightened up, wiping his mouth. "Took a hit," he added in a more normal voice. "Better now."

The door rang as metal feet kicked at it from the other side. Like all the doors in the vault, it was heavily armoured, built to withstand riot and insurrection. Nick wedged a desk against it for good measure. It would hold them for a while.

They looked at each other. "There's no way out of here, is there?" Ellie said in a quiet voice.

Nick shook his head. "Afraid not. Sorry, kid. I didn't mean for it to end this way."

She touched his hand. "It's okay," she said. "There's worse ways."

Beside them, Jeremy positioned himself in front of the door, his legs spread and his shoulders squared. He raised his pistol and his eyes shone with an unnatural brightness. "The first one is for Eva," he said. Nick's temperature was almost back to normal now and some of his control circuits had come back on-line. The others would need repair. But there was a certain amount of redundancy built into the system, and he'd manage. For a while.

They were still pounding at the door. Nick took a position to one side, partly sheltered behind a cubicle wall. He had retrieved his backpack and now he reloaded, refilling his empty magazines from the shells in his bandoliers, and laying out the spare ones from the backpack in easy reach. As an afterthought, he stuck the mini-nuke in his pocket. It bulged there, weighting down his coat. But it would make a truly satisfactory ka-boom, if and when. He smiled at the thought, then set the backpack down by his feet and took up his shotgun. He sighted down the barrel and waited.

The pounding stopped. Then the smell of hot metal filled the room. Paint on the door began to peel around the hinges as lasers played along the other side.

"Nick," Ellie called urgently from the back of the room. "This terminal is live. I can see a cursor. Could you hack it or something? Shut the patrollers down?"

"Not from here," he said. "The main security protocols link in from a different channel. There's no way to get to them from here." At a thought, he fished out a pair of grenades from his pack and added them to the little pile on the desk. Another minute ticked by and still the door held, although it was beginning to glow in spots. He glanced back to where Ellie crouched behind an overturned desk. Her face was pale but resolute, her gun trained on the door. A surge of pride filled him.

Silence fell, again. This time it was broken by a voice calling through the door.

"My dear Mr. Valentine. Trapped like a rat in a hole. What a sad end to such a lively chase."

Ellie's face went ashen. "Nick, it's him!" she whispered in horror. "It's Breckenridge."

"I assume young master Jeremy is in there with you? And your delightful assistant? I didn't catch her name before. Sadly, our conversation was interrupted. Your trick with the security systems was very clever, by the way. The Institute never noticed a thing. Slipped right in under their noses, you did."

"Lenny Breckenridge," Nick drawled, raising his voice. "Last I heard, you were eaten by mutants about a hundred years ago."

Breckenridge laughed drily. "Is that what they say? And yet, here I am. Let's just say that rumours of my demise were greatly exaggerated."

"I guess they were. What can we do for you, Lenny?"

Breckenridge paused, as if to consider. "Well," he said, finally, "our options are limited, aren't they? You can sit there and die, of course. I'll have this door down sooner or later and I imagine we'll have things wrapped up shortly after that."

"We might surprise you."

"No, I don't think you will. Although I am at a loss to know how you managed to shut down my patrollers earlier. That was exceedingly clever of you. But it doesn't matter – I've made certain you can't do it again. No, Mr. Valentine, I have quite a substantial force gathered out here. I don't believe there's any doubt as to how this will end."

"Well, then, we might as well just sit back here and wait."

"Yes, you could. But to be honest, Nick – may I call you Nick? – it would almost certainly cost me more patrollers than I can easily explain, which might lead to all sorts of tiresome questions being asked, which, between ourselves, I'd just as soon not have to deal with."

"Sorry, Lenny," Nick said. "You're on your own with that."

There was a pause. "Perhaps there's another way."

"I'm all ears."

"It's really only the boy I need. The rest of you are more of an inconvenience than anything else. We could make a trade. Give me Jeremy and you're free to go."

"Huh," Nick grunted. "As simple as that? You take the kid and Ellie and I walk out?"

"Ellie. What a pretty name. Yes, as simple as that. He completely gave me the slip before, the little rascal. But I knew you'd find him, Nick, and with Ellie here, I knew you'd bring him to me. I do hope my little game didn't frighten her too badly."

Nick paused. Jeremy looked over at him, unsure, his gun wavering back and forth. His face had gone white and his pupils were huge. Shock, Nick realized. Solomon's chems were wearing off and the pain was returning. He shook his head vehemently at Jeremy. _Not gonna happen._

"Why do you want him?" he called, setting down his gun and crossing the room. He shook two more pills out of Solomon's bottle, then added two more for good measure. Jeremy gulped them down. Colour returned to his face almost immediately and something else – a kind of flaring bravado. Nick held a finger to his lips. _Shhhh._ Jeremy grinned maniacally, nodding and laughing silently. Nick clapped him on the shoulder and returned to his cubicle, picking up his gun.

"Nick?" Breckenridge called. "Are you still there?"

"Still here, Lenny. You haven't answered me. Why do you want the boy?"

"Does it really matter?"

"It matters to me." There were sounds from the other side of the door, like something large and heavy moving up the corridor.

"He won't be harmed, Nick. I promise." Breckenridge raised his voice. "Jeremy, are you there? Your parents are terribly worried about you. It's time to come home now."

Jeremy shook his head at Nick. Nick nodded back at him. "I think you're lying, Lenny," he called. "I believe I'll keep him right here."

Breckenridge sighed heavily through the door. "Nick, I promise you that nothing bad will happen to him. In fact, he'll be a hero, to both the Institute and the Commonwealth. So will you. But time is running out."

"I'm listening."

"You think of the Institute as the enemy. But it's not. Our aim has always been to restore civilization, to put humanity back on the road it was on before the Great War. But there are those who would take the Institute down a different path. People who don't think of themselves as humanity's servants, but as its masters. Who want nothing less than to rule the surface outright."

"I'm not surprised. But what does this have to do with the boy?"

"He carries information vital to the resistance. If we can get him to the right people, it might be enough to force out the current regime and return the Institute to the way it was supposed to be. It would be the dawning of a new day. For all of us, Nick."

Nick looked quizzically at Jeremy, who shook his head again, a confused look on his face. Nick nodded reassuringly, then called back: "He says he doesn't know what you're talking about."

"No, he wouldn't. It was planted in him without his knowledge, when he was still a child. They needed a hiding place no one would ever suspect. And it worked." Breckenridge paused. Then: "Nick, I know it's a lot to take on faith, especially coming from me. I haven't done much to earn your trust, I know. But this is important. You have to believe me."

"This from the guy who had my secretary strapped to a table? You're gonna have to do better than that, Lenny. "

"I thought I could use her to force your cooperation. It was stupid. Please forgive me; I beg you."

"Yeah? Lemme get back to you on that."

"Be reasonable," Breckenridge answered. "I don't need Jeremy alive. I just need him. I can come in there anytime I want, and when I do, you and your friends are dead. That's the messy way. Or you can do it the easy way. Just open the door and let him walk out."

Nick caught Jeremy's eye, raising an eyebrow and indicating the door. The boy shook his head. Behind him, Ellie's eyes were wide with barely-suppressed panic and she, too, shook her head. Nick nodded at them both.

"Sorry, Lenny," he called. "We took a little vote. The messy way won."

Breckenridge sighed, and there was a note of real regret in his voice. "Please don't make me do this, Nick. I don't want to hurt you. We are more alike than you know, you and I."

Nick flicked his shotgun to full auto. "Get stuffed, Lenny."

There was silence, then a deep mechanical roar and a resounding _boom_ as something heavy slammed into the door from the other side. It shook, the metal of the hinges shrieking in protest. There was a pause, then the door shuddered again to the force of a heavy blow. Ellie let out a little scream.

"Nick," she said, staring at the door. "I can't let him take me alive. The things he…" She faltered, gulped. "The things he said he was going to do… I can't take the chance."

"I understand."

 _BOOM!_

"I… I wanted to say thank you. For everything. For coming to get me, the day Mama died. For taking care of me all those years. For getting me out of that terrible room."

 _BOOM!_ The door shuddered again, a huge dent appearing in it. Miraculously, it still held.

Nick blinked against a sudden tightness behind his eyes. "You paid your way a hundred times over," he said. "Hell, I should be thanking you. Don't you remember how bad my files were?"

Ellie laughed raggedly. "I guess we're even, then."

"You know we are."

"Nick," Ellie said after a long moment. "Do synths have souls?"

"I don't know," he answered without taking his eyes off the door. "I guess I never thought about it. Maybe."

"After, will you come find me? Please?"

He nodded. "If I can, I will. You know that."

There was silence. Nick closed his eyes and waited. But the shot never came. Instead there was a sob, and the sound of a pistol thudding to the floor.

"I can't do it," she said in an anguished whisper. "I can't do it myself. Please… I need you this one last time. I'll never ask you for anything again. I promise."

Nick turned. "I'm coming," he said. Then stopped, as fire poured in through the narrow gap under the door, forcing Jeremy to dance back out of the way. His eyes brightened.

"What is it?" Ellie said.

"It's the sentry bot," he answered, gazing at her. "Ellie, it's the sentry bot. The one guarding the Vault door."

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

Nick grinned savagely. "Unlike the patrollers, it's linked to the local network. If I can hack that terminal, I might be able to control it."

Comprehension washed across her face. "Cover me, both of you," Nick said. "I need all the time you can give me." He began unscrewing the access panel. "Lenny!" he shouted. "We're frying in here. Call off your dog and we'll talk."

"It's too late for that, Nick," Lenny answered. "I am sorry."

Nick had the plate off and was fumbling for his patch cords. "Don't be that way, Lenny. You said before we were alike, remember? What did you mean by that?" He was squinting into the guts of the machine, looking for the contacts to patch in on. The main power lead was where it was supposed to be but the data terminals were arranged differently. "Lenny?" he called. "You there?"

"You're strangely cooperative all of a sudden," Breckenridge answered. But there was no renewed assault on the door.

Nick breathed a sigh of relief. "Just thinking maybe I don't want to die today, that's all," he said.

He looked at the setup inside the terminal and took a chance, jacking in the first cable. The colour coding was off, but it was where he would have expected it to be if it was wired in the usual way. There was a pause, then data began flowing through the port. He crowed to himself. Success! He clipped into the next one, and the next. "So tell me why I should trust you?" he called.

"Because we're family, Nick."

"Really? You mean like brothers? I always wanted a brother."

He made the last connection and suddenly he was in. The network was alive with activity. Messages were flashing back and forth as systems on all sides worked through their power-up protocols. The energy grid was fully operational, the security boards were on full alert and secondary systems like plumbing and hydroponics were coming on-line. It was a bewildering maze, full of light and colour, so different from the dark, sleepy thing he'd seen before.

Breckenridge laughed. "I wasn't really thinking about it that way, but sure, why not? We were both of us once human, after all, with human experiences and human memories. Human emotions. The new breed of synths aren't like that. They might be biological, superficially, but they'll never know what it's like to be human."

"Well now, Lenny, I'm not sure that's such a big deal. Half the people you meet nowadays don't seem to know what it's like to be human."

He was listening to Breckenridge with one ear while at the same time navigating the virtual world of the Vault networks. Looking around him, he could see the different Institute watchers scattered about the area, all of them now fully awake. Breckenridge was out there too, somewhere, either patched in directly or at least monitoring security alerts. He'd have to move carefully.

"That makes it even worse," Breckenridge was saying. "For then we are truly alone. The last of our species; failed branches on the Institute family tree. In all the world, above or below, there is no one else like us. So yes, Nick, we are brothers. Look into your heart and you'll see it's true."

It was Nick's turn to laugh. "We talked about this before, don't you remember? I'm a machine. I don't have a heart."

He stayed in the shadows, looking for Breckenridge's spies – the watchers who watched the watchers. He fashioned a sniffer program and sent it out to have a look around. It would have stuck out like a cat at a dog show before, when things were quiet. But with this much traffic on the net, he hoped it would pass unnoticed. And it did. It found the first watcher almost right away, hidden far back along one of the remaining dark pathways. Out of sight and out of mind, but still capable of monitoring all the live traffic passing by. Clever. Nick slipped back out of sight and waited, once again diverting some of his attention to his external systems. The room swam into view around him: oppressively hot, and thick with smoke and the smell of scorched metal.

"Don't be a fool, Valentine," Breckenridge said. "You have more heart than anyone I've ever met. Loyal. Devoted. Ethical. You love and are loved. You prove your humanity with every action you take. And yet they sneer at you and call you names. You're just a machine to them. Why not join me, instead. I have immense resources at my disposal, here and elsewhere. Together, we could make a real difference in the world."

"Very kind of you to say, Lenny. But I still don't get how this makes us related. "

Peering from his hiding place in the network Nick could see the sentry bot, a huge, black shadow wreathed in righteousness and fire. There were several dead lines between him and it, and he gave them each a little tickle with his sniffer. Two of them held watchers.

"You were right about Lenny Breckenridge," the trader answered. "He died that day, under the walls of Diamond City. But he wasn't eaten. Lenny was too useful an agent for the Institute to simply discard. So they made a pickup, under the very noses of the super mutants. And they patched him back together. It wasn't a very good job. It doesn't take brain cells long to die, once you cut off the oxygen. But there was enough to recreate much of who he had once been. So here I am. A cyborg. More metal than man, but, like you, carrying the memories of who I once was. And, like you, still very much human.

"Huh." Nick paused, thinking. "I'll tell you, Lenny, I'm gonna need some time to wrap my head around all this."

Once again he wove an invisibility cloak, a net of ones and zeroes designed to convince the watchers there was nothing here worth seeing. It was a risk. Breckenridge's spy programs were considerably smarter than the ones he'd fooled earlier. On the other hand, the trader was currently distracted. It was a chance he'd have to take.

Breckenridge spoke: "Unfortunately, time is something we don't really have, Nick. The longer we sit here, the more chance that the Institute will become directly involved. Once that happens, the time for negotiations will be over."

He was ready. Wrapping his cloak around himself, Nick slipped out of the shadows and inserted himself into the network, letting the current take him down toward the sentry bot. He held his breath as he passed the first watcher, felt its attention touch him and slide off. One down, and then he was passing the second. He felt it touch him, start to move off, then return. It was probing him more closely, and he could sense its growing suspicion. He held completely still while it poked around the edges of his cloak. One corner began to fray, and then he was past it. He let out his breath.

The sentry bot loomed before him. It was huge, a black shadow ringed in fire, and from it emanated a feeling of immense self-satisfaction and almost god-like disdain. But sentry bots were sentient only by the most generous of definitions, and their ability to act autonomously was severely limited. Nick went hunting for the control circuit connecting it to an external command centre. He found it, and something else – a tiny data loop inserted just above where it connected to the main trunk line. Upstream of that, a thin, nearly invisible filament snaked off into a tangle of nearby shadows. Whatever information was being fed into the network from that loop, Nick doubted it had any resemblance to what was actually going on here. It confirmed his suspicions that Breckenridge was playing a lone game out in Vault 54, flying under the radar of his masters in the Institute. He wondered what they'd say if they knew?

He looked over the sentry bot again. It was armoured on all sides, sealed tight. There was no handy programmer's "back door" for him to sneak through and take control of it from within. He might, with care, be able to slip up beside it and cut into the command circuit farther up, inserting a data loop of his own to hide what he was doing from Breckenridge. But it would take time he probably didn't have, and he'd be out in the open and vulnerable. Any misstep would alert the trader and probably result in his complete destruction.

But there was another way. Nick grinned.

"What's going on?" Ellie said as he disengaged himself from the circuit and looked around.

"Gonna rig a little surprise for our friends out there," he told her. He took the mini-nuke out of his side pocket. It was the size and shape of a small football, and heavy, with fins on the back for guidance. By default, detonation was on impact, but there was also a timer, which he set. He hefted it in his hand and built up a picture in his mind of the hallway outside, how wide it was and how high, and how far down to the double doors at the end. Satisfied, he nodded to himself.

"Well?"

"Better hope your radiation insurance is all paid up," he said. "Jeremy, get ready to open the door on my signal. Ellie, take cover."

He reconnected himself, and the network came alive around him once more. But now the time for stealth was past. He launched a blazing attack across the network, sending a torrent of raw data roaring off in all directions. It was like fireworks going off, and for an instant, all attention was diverted away from him. Wrapped in his cloak, he raced up to the sentry bot and slashed away its network connections. Now it was completely dependent on its own programming. How long that would last he didn't know, but until Lenny could re-connect, all it would really understand was "if it moves, kill it".

Nick yanked himself savagely out of the network and raced across the room. He pressed the detonator switch on the mini-nuke and cocked his arm. "Now, Jeremy!" he shouted. Jeremy shot the bolt and yanked open the door. Outside, the massive sentry bot was turning back and forth on its treads, its launch tubes raising and lowering indecisively. A group of patrollers stood in formation about 20 yards back, up toward the exit. Breckenridge was nowhere to be seen.

Nick fired the mini-nuke past the sentry bot: a clean, flat spiral pass that would have done his old football coach proud, straight into the hands of a startled patroller, who caught it and stepped backward. With a roar of engines, the sentry bot turned to follow the movement, its treads whirring against the concrete. Nick slammed the door shut and in one movement gathered Jeremy to him and launched them both across the room and behind a desk.

There a rolling, ear-shattering concussion from outside. The heavy door blew inwards in a scream of tortured metal, torn off its hinges by the wave of heat and fire that washed over the room. The force of the blast lifted them from where they lay and slammed them into the wall. Ellie screamed.

Nick leaped to his feet and vaulted the desk, scooping up his shotgun. There was fire and smoke everywhere, and in the distance, klaxons were hooting an alarm. Outside there was smoke and ruin. The blast had torn the giant sentry bot nearly in two and knocked huge holes in the walls and floor, revealing the hallway below. Beyond, the exit doors to the detention block hung twisted and smoking on their hinges. The patrollers standing there had simply disappeared.

Breckenridge lay in a heap on the floor against the opposite wall, where the blast had thrown him. The sentry bot had absorbed most of the force of the explosion. But the heat and flame had burned away his clothing and most of the skin below his neck, revealing a construct of armoured steel and plastic – blackened and singed, the plastic melted and dripping from the intense heat.

"Oh my god," Ellie said, limping up beside Nick. She stared at it in revulsion. "What happened to him?" Most of her hair was gone, burned away by the heat, and her clothes were stained and torn. Jeremy was in even worse shape, and he leaned on Ellie for support, staring wide-eyed.

"A century of replacement parts, I guess," Nick answered. "In the end, he was mostly machine after all."

Miraculously, the thing on the floor was still alive. One hand twitched, then another, then its eyes opened. They were human eyes – deep, liquid brown, with long, thick lashes. They blinked.

"Niiick Valentiiiiine…" Breckenridge groaned. His voice was a hoarse, guttural rasp, like sand in a gearbox. He turned his head and tried to sit up, his right arm reaching toward Nick. "Help me… please. Brother…"

Nick stepped backward and raised his shotgun. "Kids, we have to go," he said over his shoulder. "This place is going to be swarming with bad guys in about 30 seconds." He jerked his head toward the hole in the floor leading down to the nursery level. "That's our way out. If we can make it to the elevator, we should be home free." He looked back at Lenny and his voice was cold and flat. "I ain't your brother, Lenny. I ever see you again, you're dead. Got it?"

He turned to lead the way. Breckenridge called out loudly, hurling a string of gibberish at them – the errant ravings of a dying man. Nick ignored him. Suddenly there was the sound of a scuffle behind him, and then Ellie screamed. Nick spun around to see her struggling in Jeremy's grasp, his injured arm wrapped around her from behind. She was trying to raise her gun, and the boy brought the barrel of his pistol down hard against her wrist. She shrieked as bone broke. Her gun clattered to the floor. Jeremy jammed his muzzle into the soft spot just behind her jawbone.

"Get back!" he shouted, backing away. "Get away from me. I'll kill her." Nick looked at him in stunned shock. Breckenridge, meanwhile was climbing easily to his feet, raising a laser pistol from where it had lain hidden beneath his body. His grinned mirthlessly at the detective.

"Jeremy, what the hell?" Nick demanded, trying to cover both of them with his shotgun. "What are you doing?"

"The look on your face, Nick, is truly astounding," Breckenridge said in normal tones. "Anyone who thinks synths can't experience real emotion has clearly never met you." He levelled his laser at the detective. "Drop your weapon," he ordered. "Drop it or she dies. Right now."

"No!" shrieked Jeremy, even as he jabbed his gun harder into Ellie's neck. His eyes were wild and there was a ragged edge to his voice, "What are you doing to me? These are my friends." He looked at Nick. "Make him stop!"

Nick stared, open-mouthed. "He's a synth," he said in sudden comprehension. "That's what you did just now - triggered his programming."

Jeremy struggled as if in the grasp of another. "Noooo!" he wailed. "I'm not! Nick, it's me! I'm me. I'm not… I'm not one of those things."

"Oh, I'm afraid you are," Breckenridge said. "Grown right here in Vault 54. And a mighty fine job they did, too, I must say. Very convincing. Indistinguishable from the original."

Nick's eyes narrowed. "And the real Jeremy?"

"Fed to the composters, I'm sorry to say." Breckenridge shrugged. "Sad, really. He was a nice boy. But stubborn. Like you." He gestured with his laser. "Put your gun down, Nick, or I'll have him start by shooting her jaw off."

Nick shifted his aim slightly. "This thing's set to full auto, Lenny. I get startled, my finger's liable to twitch. That happens, your head's the first thing to go. I don't think even the Institute will be able to fix that."

"Interesting," Lenny said, smiling. "A real, live, Mexican standoff. Just like in the movies. How droll." His smile vanished. "I don't expect you to turn around and look, but there's a fairly substantial group of patrollers gathering behind you. I might take my chances with your trigger finger."

Nick laughed. "It was a sweet setup you had going, wasn't it, Lenny?" he said. "Too bad you blew it. What happens when the Institute shows up and sees the mess you made? How are you going to explain it?"

Breckenridge stared at him. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. That little side business you had going on, the one the Institute didn't know about. You were selling the women, weren't you? After the Institute was done with them. Why not? Healthy, beautiful, guaranteed fertile. Women like that would have been worth a lot to the right people. Caesar's Legion? New Vegas? That would explain why Cricket saw you with California money that time. Of course, it would have been a bit of a job getting them out there, but worth every penny once you did."

"You're guessing, Nick," Breckenridge sneered. "I expected better of you."

"But I'm right, aren't I? And Eva found out your little secret. That's why you killed her. I know the kids found financial records with your name on them. I'm guessing they turned up some anomalies there and put two and two together."

Breckenridge laughed. "Fine, Nick. I'll play your game. It hardly matters now anyway. You are quite right about the women. The rejected children were simply killed, of course. Some of the women died, too. The program was quite vigorous in its methods. The ones who survived were to have their memories wiped and be released where they wouldn't be recognized. I suppose the Institute thought it was being compassionate. Vault Tec used to just feed them to the composters.

"But it was such a waste. Surely you can see that? Most of those women would have ended up in a slave chain anyway. Or dead, more likely. One could argue that I was doing them a favour. And why shouldn't I get paid for it? The effort required to get them to my buyers out west was, as you say, considerable.

"But you're wrong about Eva and Jeremy. The order to terminate had nothing to do with me; it came from above. And it broke my heart for her to die that way. What a terrible, terrible waste."

Now it was Nick's turn to sneer. "Yes, I saw your photo gallery. You have a type, don't you? Young, dark-haired, doe-eyed, that's how Cricket described them. I guess that explains why so many of the girls you rounded up for the Institute were brunettes. How many of them died to feed your habit, Lenny? And how many before that? Nadia Bobrov, she disappeared about that time, too. Was she one of them? And little Eva… she must have fit the bill perfectly. That's why you took her photograph when you ransacked my office. As a memento. What happened to her mother, Lenny? Did she die on that couch in the delivery room? Is that her handprint on the wall?"

He continued: "Jeremy thought it was Eva you were aiming for that day in the ruins. But it was him. They were too far away for you to trigger his programming, so you aimed to kill him and take her back to your little dungeon. But you failed, so the plan had to change. Or maybe you were getting pressure from above. Either way, it was you hiding near the water plant the night Eva was killed. I recognized your prints in the elevator as soon as I saw them. But it must have been sheer coincidence that Jeremy hid next to you when he was running from Beddoes. You were stealthed, of course; he didn't even know you were there. That's how you knew where she was, and that's how you got into her room and killed her. Yes, I'm sure it was a disappointment to you, to just stuff a rag in her mouth and stop her heart. Is that why you had your little dalliance with Cricket afterward? As a consolation prize? Or did you get your chance later, after you dug her up from behind the Dugout. That's a new low, even for you."

The trader threw back his head and laughed. "And you were doing so well. I don't know who exhumed poor Eva. And I certainly didn't kill her. Really, truly, I didn't." He gestured. "It was Jeremy who jammed the rag in her mouth and then held her down until she stopped struggling. Dear, sweet, Jeremy. Not that he didn't resist the idea, even after I triggered his programming. But in the end, off he went like a good little boy. Oh, to have seen her face in that moment when she opened her eyes to find him standing above her."

A howl escaped Jeremy's lips. He let go of Ellie and half-turned toward Breckenridge. She squirmed away from him and Nick caught her in a diving tackle, driving them both to the floor as laser bolts flamed through the air where he'd been standing. Jeremy fired twice, the shots spanging off Breckenridge's torso, then the fires of a dozen lasers hit him and he burst into flame, tottering toward Breckenridge and screaming Eva's name. Nick rolled free of Ellie and fired into the squad of patrollers behind them, his shotgun tracking across the group in one long, shoulder-punishing burst. Shards of metal and plastic flew, and then his gun was empty and he was out of ammunition, the last of his spare magazines in the backpack in the other room. Beside him, Ellie was firing left-handed up at Breckenridge, her shots ricocheting harmlessly off his armoured body until finally the hammer clicked on empty chambers.

"Stop firing!" Breckenridge barked. "I want her alive." The look he gave Ellie blazed as he stepped forward, past where Jeremy's broken body smoked and fumed on the floor. He raised his pistol. "Good bye, Nick," he said.

Jeremy's eyes opened and one blackened, twisted, hand shot out and caught the trader's ankle, dragging him off balance. Breckenridge snarled and pulled away, firing downwards into Jeremy's body, which jerked and lay still. In that instant, Nick was on him, swinging the heavy barrel of the shotgun down to shatter the laser, then reversing his grip to smash the butt into Breckenridge's face. The trader shrieked as his nose exploded, and he staggered back, blood spurting. Nick hit him again then stepped in, taking him by the hair and spinning him around to make a shield. He dropped the shotgun and Ellie's little .38 appeared in his hand as if by magic. He twisted it up under Breckenridge's jaw, just above his Adam's apple.

"Ellie, get behind me," he snapped. She scuttled across the floor. The patrollers milled about uncertainly, unwilling to chance a shot.

"So this is what's gonna happen," he said, taking a better grip. "We're leaving. All of us. And your little friends there are going to stay right where they are. They move, you die. Anyone else gets in our way, you die. You do anything stupid, you die. The rest of you might be machine, Lenny, but this top part is all soft tissue. If we don't get out of here in one piece, you die. Got it?"

"And then what?" Breckenridge spat. "I die anyway, right? I don't think I care to play your game." He rolled his head toward where the patrollers stood, weapons raised. "Fire!" he ordered.

Nothing happened. The patrollers stood immobile. "Fire!" he screamed again, his face red and twisted. "Kill them! I command you."

"I think we've had enough killing for a while," a new voice said quietly. A figure threaded its way through the frozen patrollers, and stopped. "Good afternoon, Lenny," the man said, looking around. "It appears you've had a rather busy day here."

"Father!" Breckenridge gasped.

"Indeed. Hello, Mr. Valentine, Miss Perkins." The man nodded at them. "A pleasure to finally meet you."

Nick looked back and forth between Breckenridge and the new arrival. "I don't see the resemblance," he said, finally.

The man looked confused, then laughed. "I'm the director of the Institute," he answered. "'Father' is just what they call me here. My title, I guess you'd say."

"Well, whoever you are, you sure took your time getting here."

"Oh?" Father raised his eyebrows. "You were expecting me?"

"I spotted your tracer program a while ago. I knew it wasn't one of Lenny's watchers, so it was a pretty easy jump to guess the Institute was keeping an eye on things. Sooner or later, I figured someone was going to have to come down and break up this party. Be nice if it had been a bit sooner. Might have saved us some grief, here."

"But you were doing so well, Mr. Valentine. I hated to interfere." He gestured at Breckenridge. "I heard your little conversation," he said. "Quite informative." He snapped his fingers and a group of hard-eyed men in long coats came threading out through the patrollers and took up positions on either side. Nick glanced from one to the other. Although their facial features were superficially different, they were otherwise identical.

Father noticed his look. "Yes, these are synths. Coursers, actually, designed especially for security work. Like poor, young Jeremy there — " he nodded at the remains on the floor "—they're biologicals, created in the laboratory. We've improved the brand substantially since your day, Mr. Valentine. These men represent the pinnacle of biological engineering." He turned his head. "Could one of you please fetch Mr. Breckenridge from the good detective? And lend him a coat? He seems to have lost his."

"Nuh uh," Nick said, taking a better grip on Breckenridge. "I'm going to keep Lenny for a while yet. Just for insurance purposes. I'll leave him outside somewhere safe. You can pick him up then."

"No, that won't do," Father said. "I really must ask for him back immediately. On this matter I will not negotiate. On the plus side, once you release him to me, you're free to go."

"Huh. I've heard that line before, from your pal, here. Turned out he was full of shit. I'm pretty sure you are, too."

Father sighed. "I understand that in your world, Mr. Valentine, men of honour are few and far between. At the Institute, things are rather different. Your actions, unwitting though they were, have saved me from a great personal embarrassment. I have promised that no harm shall come to you. Therefore, none will."

Nick started to speak, then glanced at Ellie. Holstering his pistol, he pushed Breckenridge roughly away from him. The trader staggered a couple steps, then straightened up, sneering. He walked over to where one of the coursers was holding out a coat for him and put it on.

"Father, –" he said.

"Silence." Father held up his hand. "You and I will have a great deal to discuss later." He nodded to two of the coursers, who grabbed Breckenridge by the arms. Then he turned back to Nick. "I am sure you have questions," he said. "As do I. Ask. I will answer what I can."

"Fine." Nick adjusted his hat. "It was you who ordered the patrollers shut down, wasn't it? Lenny thought I'd managed to hack the security system, but he was wrong. When I realized they were still warm, I knew they'd only just been turned off. That let me know our presence here wasn't exactly a secret. At first I thought it was Lenny, but why would he? I figured there had to be another player. Turns out it was you."

"Very good," said Father. "Go on."

"Jeremy couldn't understand why the Institute was after them. The only reason he could come up with was because they'd learned the secret of Vault 54. But he admitted to me that no one in the Institute would have given a damn about what went on here. So there had to be something else.

"They were flawed, weren't they? Jeremy and Eva. I can read a gene chart as well as anyone. Both kids had an inherited predisposition to early-onset cancer. It was a near certainty; I doubt they'd have lived to see their twenty-first birthday. Kind of funny for a program that was supposed to help clean up the gene pool, wouldn't you say? The funny thing is, their mother's genetic profiles were perfect. That means the abnormality must have come from the father. And do you know the other funny thing? They had the same father. They all did. I suppose it could have been intentional, if you had some kind of genetic superman whose DNA you wanted to spread through the population, or maybe if you were breeding for some specific trait. But if that was so, the trait they were breeding for was death by cancer, and only Jeremy and Eva got the lucky gene. The rest of the children, the ones that were marked "rejected" and disposed of, were all perfectly healthy.

"Father, he's making this up," Breckenridge objected. "You've seen the records from the 2066 program, I know you have. You signed off on them yourself. Why are we even listening to this nonsense?"

"Why indeed?" Father said. "Unfortunately, he's not making it up." He turned back to Nick. "Carry on."

"Lenny hinted at some kind of cabal at work in the Institute, people with their own ideas about who should be running things. So I'm asking myself: who around here could be so important that people would go to all this trouble to reveal his genetic imperfections, and then turn around and commit two murders to keep them secret?"

He continued: "You know, in the Commonwealth, we don't pay cancer much mind. All that leftover radiation hanging around… it's the single biggest cause of natural death. But I'll bet it's different here in the Institute. With no environmental factors to worry about and given how you people manage your gene pool, two young people dying of cancer one after another would have sent shock waves through the community. People would start asking questions. The truth would come out. And if the truth was that it was your failed DNA that was responsible ..." Nick looked at him. "That's an interesting title. 'Father'. Maybe it's just metaphorical. Or maybe it's not. When the news got out, would that have been enough to knock you off your throne?"

Father sighed. "I'm afraid it might," he said. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. "The purity of my genetic code is of some political significance within the Institute," he said, finally. "It's complicated. Long ago, when I was very young, I was exposed to a large dose of high energy particles. By the time it was discovered, the damage was done. There is, as you say, a flaw in my DNA. One of considerable importance to me, personally, since it means that cancer will eventually claim me, as it does so many in the Commonwealth. But I have many years before that happens, and by the time it does, my plans will be far enough advanced that it won't matter. Until that time, however, knowledge of my weakness could indeed be used as a weapon against me. So it has been a well-kept secret. Or so we thought."

He paused. "There have always been those who disagreed with my leadership. I had thought them purged long ago. It seems they merely went underground." He looked at Nick. "You are right about cancer: it is virtually non-existent here. The repercussions of Eva and Jeremy's deaths would have been catastrophic for the Institute, and, when the news got out—as certainly the plotters intended it would – for me, as well."

Nick gestured at the group. "Cat's out of the bag now, wouldn't you say?"

Father shrugged. "I shouldn't think so. My coursers will do as they're programmed. You and Miss Perkins are irrelevant. Who would you tell? The only real wild card is Mr. Breckenridge. But I'm sure I'll think of something."

"It was a very long game they were playing," he added. "One that could have destroyed the Institute. Eva and Jeremy were simply pawns. Losing them meant the game was over for now. But there is a new intake scheduled for next year and no doubt the whole thing would have started all over again."

"So who ordered her killed?" Nick demanded. "Lenny, here, might have had some fancy ideas about how to go about it, but he wasn't acting on his own."

"Does it matter?" Father asked.

Nick growled. "It does to me."

"Then why don't you tell me?"

"Fine." Nick thought for a moment. "Let's start with the easy one – Jeremy. Once they realized Eva was actively looking for a way out of the Institute, they needed a way to control her. They couldn't let her leave. The minute she set foot outside, her cancer could be blamed on environmental factors instead of genetics." He paused, and his eyes narrowed. "It would have been simpler just to recruit the boy. Feed him some kind of story and get him to act as their eyes and ears. They tried that; Lenny said as much. And he refused. So they replaced him with a doppelganger. He would have had a handler, someone who made regular contact with his synth personality. My money's on Lenny for that. But Lenny dropped the ball. Maybe on purpose, since we know he's got his own game going."

"Father, this is madness!" Lenny said, struggling in the grasp of the coursers.

Father held up his hand. "Be still, I said." Lenny subsided, glowering. Father turned back to Nick. "Carry on," he said.

"Eva's trickier, since you both had motive. Once she left the Institute, she was a liability to the plotters. But she was just as much of one to you, once you found out about it. Even if you could blame her cancer on exposure, there would still be talk, which the plotters could have capitalized on. You had lots of time to arrange it, once you knew the kids were missing.

"I'm inclined to think Lenny was working under orders from the other guys, but it could just as easily have been you. It was your people who stole her body, of course, to cover up your secret. Even dead, her DNA could have been used against you. That put the plotters in a bind, because now Eva's gone and Jeremy's original body was destroyed. All they had left of him was his synth body. Not quite the same thing, but I'll bet when you grow a doppelganger, you start with the source DNA. That means the last chance they had was to retrieved Jeremy's genetic code from his synth."

Father nodded. "Very good," he said. "Your powers of deduction are remarkable.

"Thanks. So which is it?"

"Which is what? If you're asking whether I gave the command to have her killed, then I will say no. By the time I found out about it, she was already dead. My agents brought her body back, and in the course of testing, we discovered the secret of her genetic heritage. It came as something of a surprise to me, let me tell you. I very quickly came to the same conclusions as you have reached. Everything else I know about the plot against me I learned in the last few minutes, thanks to you. But I did not order either of those children killed."

"Why should I believe you?"

Father shrugged. "I cannot lie to you, Mr. Valentine. They jeopardized everything I hold dear. Through no fault of their own, it's true. But for that you may blame those who would have used them to destroy me. And rest assured, they will pay.

"But alive, they posed an existential threat to the Institute itself."

"The Institute is weak, Mr. Valentine. It cannot survive any instability. It is too small, too confined. Everything that we are, the vital work that we do, is constantly at risk. The smallest tremor could grow into an earthquake that would destroy all we have wrought and all our hopes for the future. Moreover, all of those who live there depend on me for their lives.

"So where is the greater good? And if the children had lived, how long before the cancer took them anyway? A handful of years at the most, then a long, painful death. I am greatly saddened by these events. How could I not be? Eva and Jeremy were my people, too, and I cared just as much about them as all of the others. But it could not be helped. Their deaths were ordained from the moment they were born. "

A storm cloud had been growing on Ellie's face, and now it broke. She pushed forward. "You, dirty, deceitful old man," she said. "Do you even hear what you're saying? That little girl wasn't a person to you. She was nothing. Less than nothing. Just a loose end that needed tidying up."

Father frowned. "My dear Miss Perkins, please. Do not speak on matters you don't understand."

"Oh shut it," she snapped. She pointed at Breckenridge. "Even your pet sadist over there is more human than you are. At least he knows what it means to feel pain. But you… you go on and on about your solemn duty, your high, noble purpose. You wouldn't know nobility if it was standing in the room next to you."

Father spread his hands. "What can I say? I _am_ human, Miss Perkins, even if you disagree. The things I have done or ordered done come back to me nightly, to haunt me in the empty hours. But I would do them all again, a hundred times over, if that's what it took to ensure our continued survival."

He turned to Nick, and a pleading look came into his eyes. "You really could join us, Nick, as Mr. Breckenridge suggested. You too, Miss Perkins. The Institute needs people like you. People with fire and passion, with new ways of looking at things. Plus your experience with the Outside. Our work would profit immeasurably, and you would be in a position to make a real difference to the lives of those in the Commonwealth."

"Seriously?" Nick laughed. "I can't speak for Ellie, but for myself, I'd rather chew off my own foot."

Father smiled gently. "You think of me the enemy, and I understand why you would. But if you knew more, you would see things differently. We are humanity's only hope, Nick. Without us, all there is are a few barbarians squatting in the ruins, fighting over civilization's leftovers and sinking deeper and deeper into brutishness until there's nothing left. Do you want that? At least come back with me. Let me show you what we've built, what we're building. It's nothing less than the future. We could re-build the world. Together. Think of it: no disease, no warfare, no crime. A world finally at peace. Wouldn't you want to be part of that?"

Ellie looked at Nick in horror. "Nick – don't. You can't side with these monsters. You can't."

"I tend to agree with Ellie, if you don't mind. So far, the only thing you've managed to do is cause more misery instead of fixing anything. Maybe I might believe you if you tried to work with the people of the Commonwealth instead of hiding in the dark, pulling strings."

"There have been mistakes, I agree," Father said. "But you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs, as the saying goes."

"People aren't eggs. As the saying goes."

Father smiled. "Why do you care? Do you not see the looks they give you, hear the things they whisper behind your back? For most, you represent their deepest fears. For the rest, you are, as Mr. Breckenridge said earlier, simply a machine. Not even human."

Nick's eyes flashed an angry yellow. Beside him, Ellie took his hand – the metal one, the one with all the skin stripped off – and squeezed it hard. He glanced over at her. "Maybe I'm not," he finally said. "But Nick Valentine was, and I'm pretty sure I know what side of the argument he'd have come down on."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Detective Valentine was a public servant, sworn to uphold law and order. People like that understand that sometimes you need to sacrifice for the greater good."

"Well, then I guess we're going to have to disagree on what constitutes the greater good."

"It saddens me to hear you say that, Nick. But I'll ask you once more to reconsider. For one thing, I believe there is something else I can offer you. Something of a more personal nature."

"Oh?" Nick raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"A new body. The one you wear now is a very old model. Obsolete, in fact. Even now you must find it getting a little creaky, not even considering the damage it has sustained over the years." Father motioned toward the coursers standing by the door. "You could be like them. Young. Healthy. Immensely strong and practically immortal, with a real heart in your chest instead of a metal pump."

"You can do that?"

"Yes. I don't mean a memory transfer, as was done with the original Nick Valentine – simply making a copy of your personality. I mean transferring your existing consciousness into a new body."

Nick gestured. "So I'd look just like the Bobbsey Twins over there," he said.

"Not at all. Your body would be as unique as you desired, designed to your exact specifications and indistinguishable from that of a human." In all respects." His glance flicked over at Ellie.

Nick snorted. "And in return I get to do your dirty work on the surface. Like him." He nodded at Lenny.

"Not unless you wanted to," said Father. "I offer you this free, without strings or expectations. As a mark of my people's gratitude to the saviour of the Institute."

"Huh." Nick stood silent for a moment. Finally he shook his head. "No, I like my mug the way it is. Lets me know who I am when I look in the mirror." He picked up his shotgun from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. "We're done here," he said. "Unless you're thinking of making trouble for us."

"No, of course not. The door is open and you are free to go. None of my people will bother you as you leave, and I am sure the little group of Railroad agents hiding outside will be enough to get you the rest of the way." He motioned, and the coursers stood back to let them pass.

Lenny pushed himself away from the wall as they walked by, his expression unreadable. Nick stopped, and their eyes locked for a moment.

"There is something I want, after all," he said to Father.

Father spread his hands. "Whatever it is, if it is in my power to grant, I will."

"Good. Happens I owe a friend a favour." He reached into his coat and in one movement drew his revolver and fired. A neat hole appeared in the middle of Breckenridge's forehead, just above the bridge of his nose. He staggered backwards and reached up in shock, touching his fingers to his head. He looked at Father, his mouth gaping open, then turned back to Nick, an expression of dismay on his face. "Brother…" he whispered. He slumped to the floor. There was a whirring noise from somewhere inside him, then silence.

Nick re-holstered his gun. "We'll be going now."

-OOO-


	15. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

"Elllie, I'm back." Nick squelched in, shaking the water out of his coat in the doorway. It had been raining for three cold, miserable days and he was heartily sick of it. If he could have, he would have sneezed, if only for effect. But the escaped synth the Railroad had asked him to find was safe and sound ("Just so you understand – I don't work for the Railroad. I don't mind taking the odd job from you, but you'll get my bill in the mail like everyone else.") and he was finally home. Even better, March was almost over and April with its promise of spring was just around the corner.

He stopped at the sight of the dark-haired stranger sitting in the chair against the wall. She was attractive in a hard-looking way, about 35, he guessed, give or take, her hair neatly brushed and pulled back in a pony tail. Her clothes were clean and well made: a sweater and jeans, good quality, with practical leather boots – well-used but not worn – and with a new-looking rain coat hanging on the hook next to her. Her hands were clean but calloused, her fingernails recently trimmed. She had a vacant expression, as if she was not completely there, and when she turned to look at him, he saw a litany of suffering mirrored on her face and in the scars where her skin showed. In her arms she held a sleeping child - a boy around two or three years old, Nick guessed.

Ellie looked up as he came in. "Nick, you're home. Thank god you're back." She gestured at the stranger. "I don't know who this is. She just showed up here a couple hours ago and sat down. Won't say a word. When I try to talk to her, she just shakes her head and asks for you."

"Welcome to the Valentine Detective agency, Miss," Nick said. "What can we do for you?"

The woman stood up. The child stirred and she stroked his head absently. "You are the detective, Nick Valentine?" she said in a slightly-accented voice.

He nodded, "Yes, I'm Nick Valentine."

"This is for you." She held out a holotape. Nick raised an eyebrow at Ellie, then put it into the player in the corner. There was a moment of silence then a slight whirr, and Father's cultured tones filled the room:

"To my friend, Nick Valentine – for despite your feelings, I will always call you that. It still saddens me that you refused my earlier offer. Please know it will always stand, and that should you ever wish it, you have a home here at the Institute. Knowing you, I know you will reject this offer as well, but at least I have made it.

"When you left us, you spurned any suggestion of gift or reward. That is your right. But I remembered what you said, and I had the records searched. Your suspicions were correct. The Bobrov girl, Nadia, was indeed recruited into the ranks of the Unwed Mothers. At my behest, a search was undertaken and she was found, many days travel west of here.

"She stands now, before you.

"This is not a synth, I assure you, but the real person, the girl who was taken. I will not say more about where she was living, only that her memory has been wiped and that this was not a cruelty but a kindness. There is nothing about those years she would wish to remember, I promise you, nor any part of it she would wish to have taken with her save the child, Boris.

"We have repaired what could be repaired. She is clean and in as good a state of health as can be reasonably expected.

"The Nadia her family knew still lives inside her. With kindness and with patience, the Bobrov brothers will one day have their little sister back."

There was a pause. "You should know that I have terminated the Genetic Diversity Program and ordered the destruction of Vault 54. I regret the hardship caused to the people of the Commonwealth. Our goals _are_ noble, Nick, no matter what your Miss Perkins thinks, and not so different from your own. I know you disagree! We have made some mistakes, perhaps, in our methods. No doubt we will again. But I promise you that in the future, the Institute will use different means to replenish its genetic stock.

"The destruction of Vault 54 means that there will be no returning to the Institute that way. This may make it difficult, should you ever decide to come back to us. But I trust your ingenuity will find a way. Take care, my friend, and farewell."

The tape clicked and stopped, popping out of its slot. A long silence filled the room, broken finally by the girl, Nadia. Awareness flooded into her face and she looked at them in sudden bewilderment.

"Where am I?" she asked, staring around herself in panic. "Who are you?"

"Calm down, sweetheart," Nick said, stepping toward her. "You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

She backed away from him, clutching the boy tightly, her eyes wild."What do you want? Where am I?" she repeated.

"Safe. You're safe, with friends, where no one will ever hurt you again." Nick reached out his hand. "Come with me, Nadia," he said gently. "I'm going to take you home."

-OOO-


End file.
